


Flowers Are Customary In These Situations

by Byhookorbicrook



Category: Happy! (TV 2017)
Genre: Anal Sex, Beating, Blood As Lube, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Bondage, Chair Bondage, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Consensual Violence, Death Threats, Forced Intoxication, Hate Sex, I'm Going to Hell, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Psychotropic Drugs, Revenge Sex, Rough Sex, Verbal Humiliation, Violence, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:01:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 41,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26590324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byhookorbicrook/pseuds/Byhookorbicrook
Summary: Season 1, Episode 1 Alternative in which there are no cops backing Smoothie up at the hospital, and Nick Sax decides that things might as well get rough.
Relationships: Smoothie/Nick Sax
Comments: 9
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is very nasty and I do not even remotely apologize for it.

Nick let the fire extinguisher fall to the floor with a loud, wet clatter. 

“Look at you, you sick fuck,” he growled, casting his eyes over Blue’s favorite torturer, who was still crouched up against the wall and looking at him like he’d just found the man of his dreams. “You _loved_ watching that, didn’t you, pretty boy?”

Smoothie was still shocked into silence. He licked the hitman’s blood from his lips with one long, savoring swipe of his tongue and then looked down at the man whose skull Nick had just shattered. Nothing remained except a nasty pool of human blood and grease on the floor—the hitman had absolutely decimated him. Not even the dental records would be identifiable at this point. 

Nick stepped over the corpse, easing closer at a lazy, measured pace. There was no sense in rushing things, after all. He had every intention of taking his time, now that Blue’s henchmen were taken care of. He noticed that Smoothie didn’t back away from him; the killer made no effort to escape or arm himself, and didn’t even move from his spot on the floor. He only watched Nick close the distance with another luxurious stroke of his tongue. 

“Looking like you wanna get frisky,” Nick noted with a nasty chuckle. He stopped in front of the killer, towering over him, waiting to see if Smoothie would make a move. The other man only stared up at him with a greedy, undignified smirk on his face. Nick reached down to grab the front of his bloodstained rubber coat, twisting the material in his fist and listening to the giddy little laugh that Smoothie let out. “Starting to _sound_ like you wanna get frisky, too—ain’t your boss gonna be mad that you fucked up so hard on the job?”

“Mmm, yes,” the killer murmured, his eyes drifting down to Nick’s fist longingly. 

“Bet he wouldn’t be happy to see you giving me those googly eyes, either, not after what I just did to his men,” Nick told him. “Or what I’m _about_ to do to you.” 

“And what might that be?” Smoothie demanded quietly. 

Nick leaned down to smile at him, amused by the flirtatious note in the killer’s voice. 

“About to put your fuckin’ lights out,” Nick told him, matching the raunchy tone, trying to make it as sleazy and seductive as he could. “Hope you like it rough, pretty boy. I’m about to give it to you rougher than you’ve ever had before. How’s that sound?”

Smoothie let out a sick little noise of excitement when Nick yanked him effortlessly to his feet and shoved him up against the wall with one hand. 

“And to think,” he started, wheezing when Nick’s other fist closed around his throat and squeezed tight as a vise. Smoothie used the last gulp of air in his lungs to choke out, “I didn’t even _think_ to buy you flowers.”

Nick laughed at that. He let his eyes trail up and down the killer’s body, debating where to begin, and then released Smoothie’s coat to give him one quick, brutal jab right in the solar plexus. The killer’s knees buckled instantly, leaving Nick holding him up by the throat. Nick hadn’t expected to see Smoothie’s eyes light up in delight after being hit, and he definitely hadn’t expected the sight to turn him on quite as much as it did—still, there was no denying it. Smoothie wanted a beating just as badly as Nick wanted to dish one out, and Nick couldn’t help the fact that he found it a little bit sexy. 

“Ohhh, you like that, do you?” he demanded, shoving the killer up against the wall even more firmly and then giving him one more sharp, punishing blow to the stomach. This time he heard Smoothie wheeze with pain. “Ooh, there we go, baby. C’mon, say my name next time. Get me all hot and bothered, why don’t you?”

He hit the other man again, another merciless strike to the stomach, but Smoothie only choked out a laugh. 

“I told you to say my _name_ ,” Nick snarled into the killer’s ear. He eased up his grip on the little man’s throat, just enough to let Smoothie draw in a gasp of air, and then forced the killer’s face up to meet his own. “C’mon, pretty. Say it. I know you want to. Or am I gonna have to beat it out of you?”

Smoothie bit his lip and let out a long, satisfied moan. He writhed in Nick’s grip, steadying himself on his weakened knees and trying to catch the breath that Nick had knocked out of him. Once he’d gotten it back enough to speak, he let his fingers dance across Nick’s thin, patterned hospital gown and gave the fabric a greedy tug. 

“Might not be able to _beat_ it out of me,” Smoothie hissed. “Might have to do something _else_.” 

“Mm. I’ve got a few ideas,” Nick growled, pinning the killer to the wall with both hands and leaning in, loving the way that Smoothie’s breath hitched underneath him. He lingered a little bit closer than the killer expected, looking for all the world as if he were about to kiss him, and then grabbed Smoothie by the hair and slammed the back of his skull into the wall. The blow was hard enough to make Smoothie’s vision white out for a few moments, and by the time Nick’s face flickered back into focus, the hitman was already rearing one fist back to hit him again. 

Nick’s knuckles caught him right in the jaw, and if the hitman hadn’t been holding him up, Smoothie would have crumpled to the floor like a deflated balloon. Nick didn’t stop with one punch—he reeled back for another immediately after, and followed that one up with a nasty backhand. 

“Gotta get both sides,” he explained, readjusting to switch hands and then striking Smoothie again twice as hard. “Y’know. Wouldn’t want to leave you looking asymmetrical, not with a pretty little face like that. Blue didn’t tell me you were so good-looking. Can’t believe he was holding out on me; should’ve given me your number. Ah, well. Too late now, isn’t it?”

Smoothie spat a mouthful of blood out onto the front of his rubber coat and croaked, “Not necessarily.”

“Mm, not necessarily. You’re real nasty, aren’t you? Sick little fuck,” Nick snarled into the other man’s ear. “Gettin’ off on this, huh?”

“Mmhmm,” the killer managed, flashing Nick a scarlet smile, which somehow still looked charming despite the fact that he was drooling blood. Nick found himself impressed by that. 

“God, I’m gonna mess you up _so bad_ ,” he sighed. “Such a shame, too. You started off real handsome, but you’re gonna look like _that_ when I’m done with you.”

He grabbed Smoothie’s face and forced him to look at the man whose skull he’d cracked open with the fire extinguisher. Smoothie only let out an eager moan in response, twisting with desire in Nick’s hands and then clutching greedily at the hospital gown to feel out the hitman’s body. 

“Oh, that's what you want? Really? Are you totally fuckin’ sure?” Nick demanded. 

He heaved the other man away from the wall and dragged him to the corpse, grabbing Smoothie by the back of his coat and throwing him down to the floor. 

“Look at it,” he snapped, shoving the killer’s head down to the linoleum tiles, pushing his face into the gory mess that had pooled around the body. “C’mon, don’t be squeamish. Give me another one of those naughty little moans, why don’t you? You want it, don’t you, you pretty little piece of shit?” 

“Mff,” Smoothie gurgled through the blood in his mouth. “F-flatterer.”

“Aww. You’re still feelin’ frisky,” Nick observed with an easy grin. “Y’know what? I like that. I’m feelin’ some serious chemistry right now, baby. How about you show me what you can do with that tongue?”

He forced the killer’s face down even harder into the puddle of blood and bone fragments, loving the choked noise of delight that escaped Smoothie’s lips. “C’mon. Lick it up, douchebag.”

He had expected a bit of resistance, but Smoothie only twisted his head to look up into Nick’s eyes and then let his tongue snake out to taste the bloody floor. Nick let out a long, low growl of satisfaction, grinding Smoothie’s face even harder into the linoleum tiles. It was more than clear that Smoothie was putting on a show for him; he flicked his tongue like a viper, doing his best to impress, and gave Nick a saucy little wink before slurping up another mouthful. 

“Wow, you’re fuckin’ _disgusting_ ,” Nick said, his tone of voice making it clear that it was a compliment of the highest degree. “You’re loving every second of this, aren’t you? What a goddamn psycho.”

Smoothie didn’t have to say anything. He only let his eyes roll shut blissfully and let his tongue loll out of his mouth again to lap at the blood pooling on the linoleum. 

Nick let his grip on the back of the killer’s neck tighten dangerously, and that produced another of those delicious, seductive moans he liked so much. He was riding the high of being in control—not to mention the high of killing four men—and no one had ever looked quite as tempting to him as Smoothie did right now, squirming underneath of him and cleaning up mouthfuls of blood that hadn’t even run cold yet.

“Say my fucking name,” Nick insisted, his voice more urgent than he intended it to be, letting his nails dig into the back of the killer’s neck. “Say it.”

A wide, unhinged grin spread across Smoothie’s face, and he bit his lip to try to stifle the hideous, maniacal cackle that came out of him. He kept laughing even when Nick’s fingernails dug in hard enough to break the skin, his face still crushed into the linoleum while his body shook hysterically.

“Mm, can’t _beat_ it out of me?” Smoothie managed between fits of laughter. 

“Fuckin’ say it, freak.”

“Might have to try something else. Catch more flies with _honey_ than with—” Smoothie started, cut off by the abrupt sensation of Nick’s boot stamping down hard onto his jawbone. Nick put enough of his weight into it to make the killer’s body thrash desperately against the tiles. 

“I didn’t ask for your fuckin’ opinion, is the thing,” Nick said. “All I told you to do was say my name, and I promise you, you’re gonna be _screaming_ it before we’re done.”

Smoothie snickered again, wincing when Nick’s boot ground his jaw viciously into the floor, and then said between his clenched teeth, “Am I?”

“You can bet your tight little ass.” 

“Mff!”

“Oh, you like that? Of course you do. Don’t worry, we’ll get to that tight little ass, just be patient. Can’t jump right to a home run when we’re barely even at first base, baby.”

Smoothie shivered underneath of him, unable to contain his excitement. Nick ground his heel hard into the killer’s face, as if he were trying to put out a cigarette butt on the sidewalk. 

“Damn, you’re fuckin’ _pretty_ , though,” he growled, admiring the other man’s body while it tensed and tightened underneath the heel of his boot, transfixed by the sight. He released the pressure and stamped his foot back down against the small of Smoothie’s back just to look at the killer’s face again. The treads of Nick’s sole were stamped into the skin of Smoothie’s cheek, red and angry. Nick couldn’t help but think that it looked good on him. “Seriously, it's almost making me feel guilty. Kinda feels like beating the shit out of, I dunno, somethin’ rare and majestic. A snow leopard or some shit. Still feels fuckin’ fantastic, though, especially when you _squirm_ like that.”

Smoothie panted against the floor, still catching his breath even while he grinned up at the hitman. He let out a sharp, ecstatic groan when Nick’s boot jammed into his back hard enough to crack it once. 

“Ooh. Jesus,” Nick said, surprised by the sound. “Somebody needs a massage.”

“You can give me one after,” Smoothie purred. “And maybe a quick blowjob, while you’re at it?”

“Don’t tempt me, pretty boy.”

“Maybe I _want_ to.”

“I can tell. What was it that got you so horny, sicko? Was it watching me kill all your friends, or just getting an eyeful of my dick?”

Smoothie actually thought about the answer for a moment, groaning with satisfaction while Nick’s boot dug into him again even harder. Finally he gave a helpless little shrug and said, “Both.”

“Both. Right. Of course.”

“Mutual?”

“The horniness?” Nick asked, leaning in closer, putting more weight on the little man’s spine and listening to him whine in response. Smoothie screwed his eyes shut and nodded, and Nick admired the expression for a moment before chuckling, “More than I expected, yeah.”

“Mfffffff.”

“Don’t sound so surprised. Ever looked in a fuckin’ mirror?”

“Starting to feel like I’m being courted,” Smoothie pointed out with a nasty grin. “Maybe I _should_ have bought you flowers.” 

“I’ll snag some from your funeral,” Nick said sweetly, releasing his boot from the killer’s back and grabbing him by the back of the coat, pulling him up out of the puddle of blood to his knees. He liked seeing half of Smoothie’s face plastered with red—Nick’s boot had ground most of his own blood off the other side of Smoothie’s face, after all. Only a few stains remained. Smoothie had already licked the rest away from his lips. 

“Then again,” Nick sighed, reconsidering. “Might not kill you. Might just rearrange your skull a little bit, deprive the world of those gorgeous cheekbones.”

“Aww. I’m blushing. You can’t tell, because of all the blood,” Smoothie sighed, swiping his tongue over his lips again to lap up the rest of the red stains around his mouth. “Mm. Doesn’t taste quite as nice as _yours_ , though.” 

“Oh, yeah? C’mere and taste this, then, you naughty little freak.”

Nick grabbed him by the chin with one hand and pried his mouth open with the other, forcing two fingers inside and sucking in a quick, excited breath of air when he felt Smoothie’s mouth snap shut around them immediately. “Ooh, that’s it, baby, just like that. _Fuck_ , yeah. _Just_ like that. You know the drill; no teeth, otherwise we’ll have to cut the fun short. You don’t want that, do you?” 

Smoothie moaned without a hint of shame around Nick’s fingers, his eyes gleaming greedily. 

“No, that’s right. You want me to give you _everything_ , don’t you, baby?” Nick said, patting the killer roughly on the cheek and then tightening his free hand into the front of Smoothie’s collar. He pushed his fingers in and out of the killer’s mouth with a low, rumbling groan. “ _Damn_ , you look good like this. Give me more of that tongue, don’t be shy.”

Those words fired Smoothie up more than anything else Nick had said. He let his eyes roll shut and stroked his tongue eagerly between Nick’s fingers, feeling out every inch of the hitman’s rough, calloused skin and loving every second of it. He wanted to bite down, but not _nearly_ as much as he wanted to see what else Nick had in store for him; after all, this was the most fun Smoothie had ever had at work, and he didn’t get a lot of vacations. 

“That’s right. Christ, you’re _talented,_ aren’t you, you nasty little thing?” Nick sighed, more impressed than he’d expected to be. Smoothie was exceeding his expectations in a lot of ways—enough to make Nick’s blood start stirring in the pit of his gut. “Mmm. What a goddamn shame it would be, blinkin’ you out of existence before you got to put those skills to use someplace a little bit more…rewarding, right?”

“Mff,” Smoothie agreed, sucking the hitman’s fingers eagerly into his mouth and reveling in the fact that Nick pushed them in even deeper, enough to make him choke. 

“Shh, there we go. Take it, baby, nice ‘n easy.”

Smoothie let out a delighted noise when Nick’s grip on his jaw tightened. The hitman tilted his head back forcefully and then pressed his fingers in deeper until he felt the back of Smoothie’s throat open up for him. 

“Oh, _good fuckin’ boy_ ,” Nick snarled, gritting his teeth and letting out a nasty sound. He was starting to get a little bit _too_ into it, at this point. That hot, slick mouth felt incredible around his fingers, and Smoothie’s silky tongue working diligently against the underside of Nick’s knuckles felt, to be frank, like total perfection. He caught himself imagining what Smoothie’s lips would feel like wrapped around his cock, and he knew that was a dangerous line to tread. Still, he wanted it; he couldn’t get enough of the sight of Smoothie choking on his fingers, couldn’t stop smiling when he saw how much Smoothie’s eyes watered with the effort of keeping his throat relaxed. The killer was clearly doing everything in his power not to gag, and doing a good job of it. 

“Look at you. Bet you deep-throat like a fuckin’ champ, don’t you?” Nick purred in his ear just before he withdrew his fingers. Smoothie gasped for air and turned his head quickly, trying to catch Nick’s lips with his own and missing him by just a hair’s breadth. 

“Want to find out?” he offered breathlessly. 

“Ohh, I’m _gonna_ find out, I can guarantee you that much,” Nick chuckled. “Did you just try to give me a kiss, Smoothie? You got a little crush on me already? I thought this was a one-night stand.”

“Mm. Maybe not,” the killer teased, biting his lower lip and casting his eyes up at Nick in an expressive, bloody pout. “You look so _smitten_ , after all.”

“You’re really kicking yourself about forgetting the flowers, aren’t you?” 

“Mmhmm.”

“Well, let me help you with that.”

Nick let go of him, then drove one knee into Smoothie’s jaw savagely enough to hear something crack. The force of the blow flung the killer back and he landed heavily on the floor, coughing up a fresh bout of blood and then curling up into a ball, one hand coming up to feel out the damage to his jaw. He reached into his mouth, choked for a moment, and then pulled out the fragments of a broken molar with an ugly, rapturous moan. When he looked back up at Nick, his eyes were on fire with undisguised need.

“Oh, I recognize that face already,” Nick said. “You want another one, don’t you?”

Smoothie let the shattered pieces fall to the floor with a gentle rattle, then nodded weakly and tried to right himself, faltering and staggering. He didn’t make it very far; Nick swung his leg back and gave him a halfhearted kick in the ribs, just enough to drive him down to the floor again. 

“You’re a real slut for punishment, aren’t you? Normally I’d use the word _glutton_ , but I mean, come on. Look at you,” Nick sighed appreciatively, leaning down to give the killer a cruel smirk. “Definitely more of a slut, in this particular instance.”

Smoothie either couldn’t speak or didn’t feel the need to. He was looking up into Nick’s eyes with a dreamy, devoted expression on his face, still lying limp on the tiles like a puppet with its strings cut. Nick hiked up the hospital gown and settled himself over top of the killer, straddling Smoothie’s slender waist and pinning him down. 

He grabbed Smoothie’s face, loving the awful, masochistic whine of pain that Smoothie let out, and turned his head from one side to the other to assess the damage. 

“Still so fuckin’ pretty. Just can’t quite bring myself to mess up that face. Maybe I’m gettin’ a little bit soft on you.”

Smoothie’s eyes flickered over Nick’s body, and he murmured between the crush of Nick’s fingers, “Doesn’t feel very _soft_ to me.”

“Ah, well, you got me there,” Nick admitted, casting his eyes down to what was, at this point, an undeniable erection jutting out from between his legs. He’d been so caught up in the beating that he’d barely even noticed how hard he was getting. He gave the killer a naughty grin and then reached down between his legs to hike up the hospital gown even further, drinking in the greedy expression on Smoothie’s face when the killer’s eyes locked on to his dick. 

“Said you were gonna do what with that?” Nick asked. “Cut it off in thin slices? Like salami, you said?”

“Would’ve taken at least an hour,” Smoothie said, his voice faltering. “You weren’t exaggerating.”

“Now who’s flattering who?”

Nick released the killer’s face to yank the buttons of his rubber coat loose, then readjusted himself to tear it away before settling his weight back on top of Smoothie. He dragged his fingers down the front of the killer’s black silk tie, loving the fact that Smoothie’s breath was starting to grow heavy with arousal underneath him. He didn’t take the tie off right away; first he tightened the knot with one cruel fist and listened to the killer choke. 

“Call it erotic asphyxiation. It’s erotic on my end, at least,” he joked, tightening it even further in a white-knuckled grip and laughing while Smoothie’s face flushed red from the lack of oxygen. The killer clawed at his own throat with his fingers as if he wanted to escape, but his body was telling Nick a completely different story—Smoothie’s hips were writhing with need underneath him. 

“Ohhh, _look_ at you, sweet thing. Like a dog trying to hump my leg,” Nick said with a raunchy little glance over his shoulder at Smoothie’s hips. He let go of the killer’s tie and heard Smoothie wheeze in a lungful of air. “C’mere, I’m done teasing you. Think we’ve done enough flirting, haven’t we?”

“Mmhmm,” Smoothie croaked out.

“I’m not gonna fuck up that pretty little face. I’m not even gonna slice your dick off in thin slices like salami,” Nick said, his voice mockingly soft, running his thumb gently over Smoothie’s lips and smiling when Smoothie sucked the blood from it in desperation. “All I’m gonna do is yank it right the fuck off and make you swallow it, how about that? Now, do you want mine in your mouth before, or after?”

A wicked smile flashed across Smoothie’s face. 

“After,” he said mischievously. 

“You sure about that?”

“Mm, I’m _very_ sure,” Smoothie moaned, rolling his hips again insistently. “Go ahead, _stud_. Make me regret not buying you any flowers.”

Nick didn’t like how haughty the killer’s voice had gotten. He scowled and yanked Smoothie’s tie from his neck, whipping him across the face with it once before tossing it aside. The pitiful, needy sound that Smoothie let out was more than worth it. 

Nick reached back threateningly and grabbed the killer’s crotch, squeezing hard enough to drive any average man into immediate submission—then he furrowed his brows. There was something wrong. Very, _very_ wrong. 

“Do you—” he started, his voice wavering as he readjusted his grip and tried again, feeling for something that wasn’t there. “Do you not have a—?”

A hysterical laugh bubbled up out of the killer while he rutted his hips up into Nick’s touch. The sound chilled Nick to the bone. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the frenzied smile plastered across Smoothie’s face, and even though he wasn’t quite sure _why_ , he found that he couldn’t keep his grip from tightening between the other man’s legs, either. His fingers dug into the killer’s khakis to feel out the flat, empty expanse of Smoothie’s crotch. 

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ,” Nick breathed. “Holy shit, is that why they call you—?”

“ _—Smoothie_?” The killer snickered excitedly. “Look who’s finally catching on!”

Nick had no idea what to do, or how to respond to the mind-boggling information. He narrowed his eyes and gave the killer’s crotch one hard, aggressive smack to see if Smoothie could even feel pain down there, only to be met with a dreamy little sound and another infuriating smile. 

Nick let go of the killer’s khakis and struck him across the face again, harder than any of the other blows he’d landed earlier. He didn’t know what to do, so he hit Smoothie again, and then again, and didn’t stop until he heard an excited, agonized sound escape the killer’s bloodied lips. 

“Say my name,” Nick ordered. He didn’t know why those naughty noises were firing him up so much, or why the eerie invulnerability of Smoothie’s genital region—or lack thereof, rather—was making him want to hit the little man even harder, but he leaned into it. He let his fists pummel the killer’s body, his neck, even his sweet, tantalizing mouth, just to wipe the masochistic smile off of it. “Say my _fucking_ name, you psychopath.”

“Mff,” Smoothie barely managed, his jaw trembling when he parted his lips to smile up at Nick again. “Say please?”

“Fuck, you’re _still_ not done?” Nick snarled. “How much more can you even take?”

Smoothie’s eyes chased down Nick’s body, zeroing in on his dick again, and then he let out a wistful sound and said, “ _Everything_.”

“What a sick bastard,” Nick said, sounding absolutely in awe of Smoothie’s ability to take a punch even when he already looked utterly ruined. He matched the killer’s seductive smile and then leaned in to tease him, keeping his face just out of reach even when Smoothie strained towards him. “I’ve never seen anyone take a hit like you do, baby, and that’s sayin’ somethin’. I’ve hit a lot of people, as you can probably imagine.”

“Oh?”

“Never anyone who got off on it this much, though. Come to think of it,” Nick said, wondering whether or not he even wanted to voice the words. He lowered his voice, as if he were worried about anyone other than Smoothie hearing him. “Pretty sure I’ve never hit anyone quite as good-looking as you before, either. It’s really doin’ somethin’ for me.”

“Mm?” Smoothie murmured, unable to keep the hopeful note out of his voice. “Really?”

“Might just be all the oxycodone, but yeah.”

“Mmmflattered,” Smoothie slurred, tilting his head to one side to spit out another mouthful of blood and then looking back up at Nick with a lazy smile. Nick grabbed him by the jaw again and squeezed until he heard the killer moan. He couldn’t stop looking at the other man’s bloodstained mouth, especially not with Smoothie’s tongue licking across his pretty lips and looking as tempting as it did. Nick didn’t want to admit that the sight of it was turning him on. Instead he clenched his fingers even tighter around the killer’s jaw to drive out another awful, sexual noise. 

“How about this,” Nick suggested in a quiet, conspiratorial voice. “Since my _original_ plan of shoving your own dick down your throat isn’t gonna work out, I’ll give you an alternative offer. It’s a one-time thing, though.”

“Hmm?”

“Say it. Say my name, _right now_ , and I’ll give you what you really want.”

Smoothie’s eyes lit up and he grinned through the pain. “What I _really_ want? What’s that?”

“I think you know, baby.”

“Go ahead and spell it out for me. Don’t spare the details,” Smoothie insisted. Nick chuckled and leaned in, casting his eyes over the killer’s mouth again—he found it adorable that Smoothie’s tongue flashed out across his lips every time Nick closed another inch of the distance between them. 

“Mm. You want me to get frisky with you. Haven’t exactly been subtle about it,” Nick growled into his ear, letting his lips touch the killer’s skin and loving the fact that it made Smoothie shiver under him. “Not sure why you’re even interested, since you’ve got nothin’ down there. You’re still having the time of your life, though, aren’t you, you sick little shit?”

Smoothie only nodded eagerly, his mouth opening without hesitation when Nick’s thumb pressed against his lips again. He swirled his tongue around the tip of Nick’s finger as if he were trying to prove something, holding the hitman’s gaze with those smug, prideful eyes as if he were daring Nick to give him something bigger. 

“I’m gonna use that pretty little mouth of yours hard enough to give you a goddamn concussion. You like that, don’t you, sicko?” Nick snarled against him. The sensation of Smoothie moaning around his finger was almost more than he could stand—he wanted to feel it on his dick _almost_ as much as he wanted to force the killer to submit.

“Fucking say it if you want it, then,” he ordered again. “Say my name. Say it _one_ goddamn time and I’ll fuck your lights out, just like you want me to.”

Smoothie let out a mischievous sound and released Nick’s finger with a long, exaggerated slurp. “Mm. Sounds like I’m not the only one who’d enjoy it.”

“I’m gonna enjoy every fuckin’ _second_ of reaming you straight into the next dimension, douchebag. Now say my goddamn name.”

“Make me.”

“That’s exactly what I’m _doing_.”

Smoothie flashed him a bloody smile and said, “Not well enough, though, hm?”

“Listen, asshole,” Nick growled, laying both hands on the killer’s neck in a snug grip and then tightening it like a python choking out a mouse. “Believe me, there’s nothing I’d love more than to spend all day pounding it out of you. Thing is, I ain’t got all day. I got places to be. So, final offer. I’m gonna count to ten, and if I don’t hear you say _Nick Sax_ by the end of it, you can kiss your one and only chance at this dick goodbye. Understood?”

“Mmhmmm.”

“Ten,” Nick snapped. “Nine, eight, seven. C’mon.”

Smoothie wheezed with amusement, but he didn’t open his mouth. 

“Six, five—halfway there, baby, you’re running out of time.” Nick let his grip tighten even further, and that was enough to make Smoothie’s eyebrows knit together in an absolutely ecstatic expression. A tantalizing little squeak came out of him, but nothing more. Nick leaned into him to put some of his weight behind the choking, hoping to drive the killer into submission by overpowering him. “Four, three, two—? Anything? Come on, you piece of shit, say it.”

When Smoothie locked eyes with him, it became clear that he had no intention of giving in. 

“One,” Nick muttered hatefully under his breath. 

He was furious. He wanted to watch the killer take his dick _much_ more than he wanted to kill him or maim him, but now Nick had backed himself into a corner. He’d failed to pull the words he wanted to hear out of the other man, and he didn’t have time to wait around and beat Smoothie all day—he was on the run, after all, and Blue was sure to send backup sooner or later. 

Still, he wanted it more than anything; Smoothie’s smug smile was so tempting, so _infuriating_. 

“Fine, you know what? Fuck it,” Nick snapped. 

He let go of the killer’s throat and shifted on top of him, forcing himself between Smoothie’s legs and then fighting angrily with the other man’s belt. Smoothie didn’t bother to hide how thrilled he was with the new development; he let out an excited warble of laughter when Nick yanked his belt loose. 

“Ohh, you’re going to take me _anyway_?” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Nick snarled. 

“Mff! You _want_ me,” Smoothie said, straining toward Nick’s mouth with another breathless laugh. “How pathetic!”

“Shut up. Shut _up_.”

It _was_ pathetic—Nick knew that. He doubled up Smoothie’s belt and struck the killer across the face with it more times than he could count just to put the thought out of his mind, even though he knew it was true. He’d never needed to feel anyone this badly before; the only thing he could compare it to was the temptation of drugs and alcohol, the only other things he couldn’t bring himself to say no to. Hitting the killer made him feel better about it because it made him feel like he was in control, but it didn’t make him want Smoothie any less.

Smoothie only laughed when Nick threw the belt aside and yanked open the front of his pants. The hitman let out a noise that might have been surprise or might have been fascination when he drove one hand harshly down the front of Smoothie’s khakis. 

“You’ve got literally _nothing_ , holy shit,” he panted, trying to wrap his mind around _why_ and _how_ and wishing that he understood why it didn’t even matter to him. He didn’t give a shit about Smoothie’s unusual anatomy, not really; certainly not enough to change his mind about getting inside the killer’s lithe little body. 

He couldn’t tear Smoothie’s khakis away fast enough. Nick hated the sound of the killer’s triumphant snickering, hated it more than anything—still, nothing mattered except how quickly he could tug the fabric away and force Smoothie’s knees up toward his chest. 

There wasn’t anything resembling lube within arm’s reach, but Nick wanted _something_ , at least, for his own sake. That didn’t stop him from grabbing Smoothie by the hips, pulling him in closer, and grinding up against him to growl a few threats into his ear, though. 

“Probably gonna be bleeding from both ends by the time I’m done with you,” he said, loving the shiver that chased through Smoothie’s body and the eager, bloodcurdling sound that came out from between his lips. “Oh, you like that? Of _course_ you do, you sick fuck. You’re gonna love feeling me tear you up inside, aren’t you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” the killer gasped. 

“Do you even give a shit about _surviving_ this?”

“No,” Smoothie admitted, his face wild and frenzied, his eyes locking on to one of Nick’s hands as the hitman reached over to the nearest pool of blood he could find on the floor. The moan that Smoothie let out when Nick gathered up a handful of the stuff and slicked up his cock with it was like no sound he’d ever made before; the sight was almost enough to make him give in and say Nick’s name. 

“There we go, little something to help me get in there,” Nick laughed, giving the killer a nasty grin and forcing his legs up even further to expose his entrance. He looked down to take in the sight of the other man’s puckered asshole, just for the sake of being able to compare the before and after images and admire the damage he planned to inflict. 

“Hope it ain’t your first time,” Nick said, nudging the head of his cock up against Smoothie’s waiting hole and watching a flash of indescribable need flare up in the killer’s face. Smoothie shook his head in lieu of a reply, hypnotized and desperate.

“Mm, good. You really _want_ it, don’t you? Just look at you. You’re practically drooling over this dick,” Nick mocked. He couldn’t deny how much he loved the sight. His fingers tightened greedily into the skin of Smoothie’s thighs and he snarled, “I want you to fuckin’ look at me.”

Smoothie’s eyes snapped to his immediately, full of undisguised lust. Nick held the killer’s gaze while he forced himself inside—he’d expected to see a little spark of insanity there, but instead he saw what looked to be a whole electric light show going off behind Smoothie’s eyes. 

“Holy shit, you’re—mff. _Tight_ ,” Nick managed, trying not to sound as delighted by it as he was. He didn’t waste any time. He gave Smoothie everything right from the start, ramming every inch into him until he bottomed out. “ _Fuck_ , you’re like a goddamn _wolf trap_.” 

Smoothie responded to the compliment with an ecstatic, incoherent sound. He was already clutching at the front of Nick’s hospital gown, and Nick could feel the killer’s hands quaking—he couldn’t tell whether it was a result of the pain or the pleasure. It didn’t even matter. He gave his hips one sharp, experimental thrust and savored the nasty little noise that Smoothie let out. 

“C’mere, psycho,” Nick demanded, pulling out a little bit to readjust, then sinking himself back in while he settled comfortably against the killer. He yanked Smoothie closer with one arm. Once he’d locked the little man in his grip, he set a punishing pace; every thrust was just as brutal and unfeeling as the one before. He couldn’t get enough of the sounds that escaped Smoothie’s mouth. They were worse than anything Nick had ever heard—he’d had plenty of rough sex, but no one had ever let out such twisted, frenzied sounds in response to his cock before. He doubled his efforts to drive out even more of those noises, grinning through his gritted teeth when he heard Smoothie reward him with one long, grateful whine.

“You fuckin’ love this, dont you?” he growled into the killer’s ear, crushing him even closer and driving into him harder. 

“Yes,” Smoothie choked out desperately. “Yes, yes, _Sax_ —”

“— _There_ it is, you motherfucker,” Nick laughed. He shoved himself in with one sharp thrust and held himself inside, forcing Smoothie’s face back to meet his own with the grip of one cruel hand on his jaw. “Say it again. The whole thing, fucking say it.”

Smoothie stared at him, both eyes flared wide and a mindless, hungry expression on his bloodied face. Nick squeezed him tighter and bucked into him again hard enough to make him yelp. “Come on, _say it_ , you piece of sh—”

“— _Nick Sax_ ,” the killer moaned through his teeth. He felt Nick’s grip soften while the hitman gloated over the victory, and he took advantage of it immediately. It was almost too easy to close the distance between them, as if Nick didn’t even _want_ to prevent it. 

He caught the hitman’s mouth with his own and let out an eager, animal noise into it. Nick tensed up; at first it felt like he meant to push Smoothie away, but after a moment of confused panic, he crushed the killer closer and sank into the unexpected kiss. 

Smoothie’s mouth was as warm and willing and satisfying as the rest of him—Nick loved the sensation of it opening up for him, almost as much as he loved burying himself in the tight heat of the killer’s asshole. He picked up his thrusts again, making every stroke count, losing himself in Smoothie’s obvious desperation. 

Smoothie whined against Nick’s lips each time the hitman’s teeth crashed into his own. Nick had knocked more than a few of them loose, after all, and Smoothie was already feeling the delicious ache of it. Nick was doing things to his body that he’d only ever _dreamed_ of. The pain was overwhelming, incredibly so, but the satisfaction of feeling Nick give in and kiss him so hungrily heightened the experience like nothing else. 

Nick only broke away to pant heavily into the killer’s mouth, “Look at you. So fucking _desperate_. Kissing me like I’m your goddamn prom date.”

“Mff,” Smoothie managed, going for another kiss as quickly and violently as a striking cobra. Nick didn’t just welcome it; he reveled in it, growling eagerly into the killer’s mouth while he rammed himself in even harder. 

Nick would never have admitted it, but he was having the time of his life. The taste of blood and breath mints on Smoothie’s tongue did something indescribable to him. On top of that, Nick had never felt anything like this before—he’d gotten a handful of blowjobs from other men in the past, on nights when he was feeling particularly drunk and lonely, but he’d never kissed any of them. He’d _definitely_ never fucked any of them, and he hadn’t expected it to be so satisfying. The tight grip of Smoothie’s body around his dick was nothing short of incredible; it felt even better than he’d imagined. He hated the fact that he could feel himself approaching the climax—he didn’t _want_ to finish yet, didn’t want it to end. All he wanted was to keep pounding the pretty little killer into the linoleum tiles all night, to force Smoothie to say his name over and over until he forgot how to say anything else. 

“Fucking _amazing_ ,” he said through his teeth, half to himself, burying his length inside the other man’s body like nothing else mattered. “You feel like a fucking _iron maiden_ inside, you—you—handsome little _bastard_.” 

Smoothie had never gotten a compliment quite like that before, and he loved it more than anything. He let his whole body clench cruelly around Nick’s own, right down to the fingertips, and Nick rewarded him with a throaty groan of delight. 

“God, do that again,” Nick gasped. One of his hands caught the killer by the throat immediately, choking the air out of him. “Do it again, _now_.” 

Smoothie didn’t bother resisting. He let out a nasty snarl and obeyed, squeezing his body around Nick’s punishing cock and loving the fact that it drove Nick wild—the hitman cursed under his breath in astonishment, his hips losing their rhythm for a moment while he adjusted to the impossible tightness. He rammed himself into the killer’s willing body even harder after that, chasing the fast-approaching and undeniable orgasm. 

“Say my fucking name,” he demanded, even though his voice was weakening more with each passing second. “Say it. Say it now. _Say it_.”

“ _Sax_ ,” Smoothie gasped eagerly. He watched, fascinated, while Nick’s face screwed itself up into a hideous, hateful expression, and then Nick’s body gave in to the inevitable. 

The hitman choked out one final, desperate curse when he finished. He forced his length into Smoothie’s body and then came harder than he’d expected, his vision blinking out while he let his teeth close against the killer’s bruised jaw. The euphoric rush of power and sexual release was everything Nick wanted; he even loved the needy, delighted groan that escaped Smoothie’s lips while Nick finished inside of him. 

Nick sank into every aftershock, grinding himself into the killer until his body gave out. He didn’t let Smoothie go, didn’t even pull out of him when it was over—instead he drove his teeth into the other man’s jaw to leave behind a nasty, possessive bite mark right where he knew Blue would see it. Smoothie squirmed against him and welcomed the pain, letting out one last eager little whine. 

When Nick finally pulled his teeth away, he pressed his lips against the killer’s ear and growled, “You can tell Blue I don’t have his fuckin’ password.” 

Smoothie made a soft, affirmative noise that sounded more satisfied than it had any right to. 

“Then you can tell him you want my phone number. Wouldn’t mind another little _tango_ with you,” Nick finished, giving him a mean, domineering bite underneath the ear. “Sound good?”

Smoothie made a _much_ more agreeable sound and tried to cling to him, but Nick pushed him roughly down against the linoleum tiles. He freed himself from the clutch of the killer’s arms and then from the slick warmth of his hole, giving Smoothie a raunchy smirk when he slipped out of him. The killer was staring up at him with blind, animal need and what looked like mindless devotion. Even with all the blood on his face, Nick still found it kind of adorable. 

“Night night, pretty boy,” he said, cracking his knuckles and raising his fist. “Next time I’ll be expecting some goddamn flowers.”

He dropped the killer with one swift, savage punch to the face, knocking him out instantly. It was easier to admire him now that he wasn’t sneering or running his mouth. Nick allowed himself a few minutes to take pride in all the damage he’d done and to wipe some of the blood away from Smoothie’s face, then hesitated; he didn’t want to look desperate, but he also didn’t have much faith in Blue, so he used some of the blood to scrawl his phone number into the back of Smoothie’s fresh white shirt. 

“There,” he grumbled, dropping the killer’s limp body back down to the tiles when he was done. He was satisfied, almost. 

Nick heard footsteps coming down the hall—he didn’t have much time left. That was probably for the best; he had places to be, anyway. He dragged Smoothie over to the wall and propped him up there, taking care to make sure the killer didn’t choke to death on his own blood, then hesitated again. He grumbled confusedly to himself for a moment, then leaned in and gave the other man one rough little kiss and a pat on the cheek. 

“See you soon, angry eyes,” he muttered. 

With that, he left the killer behind and stormed off to raise hell.


	2. Chapter 2

“What the _fuck_ happened?”

Blue was upset; of _course_ Blue was upset. Smoothie didn’t think it was entirely fair that Blue was upset with him specifically—after all, four of Blue’s other men had failed to kill Nick Sax, and they hadn’t even made it out of the encounter alive. 

“How the fuck did he even get loose? I _told_ you to keep him restrained, I _told_ you he was bad fuckin’ news, that he’d be hard to crack, but did you listen? No,” Blue snapped. He was pacing along one side of Smoothie’s hospital bed. He had brought along a very threatening get-well-soon card and—Smoothie tried not to think about _why_ this next part made the electrical beep of his heart monitor speed up—flowers. 

“He was restrained, at first,” he said weakly in his own defense. “Got out somehow.”

“Got out! And how’d he do that, huh? He was drugged, he was strapped to a fuckin’ bed, and what? Why didn’t you do something? Why didn’t you do your _job_?”

“I was doing my _job_.”

“Oh, yeah? Then he shouldn’t have been in any state to walk out of here like he did,” Blue insisted. He threw an irritated glance toward the door, where a few of his goons were waiting, and then leaned in and lowered his voice. “Killed four of my fuckin’ guys, just because you didn’t do your job _right_. Practically killed you, too. Bet you’re wishing that he did, huh?”

“Excuse me?”

“The doctor said you were—messed up,” Blue said, his face twisting into a grimace as if he didn’t even want to think about it. 

“Messed up,” said Smoothie. He blinked, which was difficult, given all the swelling and the maze of bruises on his face. “Right.”

“You know, messed up. _Sexually_. Said they had to do a—run one of those— _euggh_. Rape kits,” Blue managed, sounding as if he had every intention of throwing up once he left the room. “Is that what happened, then, that's what he did? _Rape_ you? Probably wish he’d killed you instead. Christ, I know I would.”

“Right,” Smoothie said uncertainly. 

“No wonder he didn’t kill you. Did all that nasty shit to you and sent you along on your merry little way as some kinda threat, some kinda message,” Blue snapped. “Well, I’ll show him. Show him I’m not the kind of man to fuck with, show him what kind of lines _I_ can cross. Rapin’ my fuckin’ enforcer. The goddamn _nerve_.”

Blue didn’t sound like he gave a shit about what had happened to Smoothie—he was clearly more concerned with how it reflected on _him_ , not worried for his employee’s well-being. Smoothie took note of that and said, “Well. You should, ah. You should send him some sort of message in return, maybe.”

“Right, like I didn’t fuckin’ think of that. Thanks, genius.” 

“Sorry.”

“No, I—Christ,” Blue growled. He simmered for a moment, then said. “Forget it. God, look at how much this shit is stressing me out. Lose four men in one night, my best guy gets himself raped half to death on the job, and here I am, fuckin’ yellin’ at him about it. And it’s almost Christmas, for Christ’s sake.” 

He shook his head, exasperated. Finally he rapped his fingers definitively on the top of Smoothie’s heart monitor machine and then said, “Don’t you worry. I’m gonna set this right, I take care of my guys.”

“Set it right?” Smoothie inquired.

“I’ll find the fucker, let you get your payback. Still need that goddamn password he’s got, anyhow.”

“Right. About that,” Smoothie said. He paused, wondering whether it was even worth passing along the message to Blue—after all, Sax had told him quite clearly that he didn’t even _have_ the password. Smoothie still remembered the sensation of the hitman’s coarse beard and lips against his ear when Sax said those words. More importantly, he _distinctly_ remembered Sax’s dick still buried inside of him when he said it; softening, yes, but still deliciously warm and _terribly_ satisfying. “Ahhhh.”

“What? Ahh? The fuck do you mean, _ahh_ , you ain’t at the goddamn dentist.”

“—Sorry,” Smoothie said, snapping out of it. “Got distracted.”

“Yeah, that seems to be happenin’ to you a lot lately. Probably why Sax escaped in the first place,” Blue snapped. “Spit it out.”

“How do you—plan to pay him back?”

“What do I look like, the details guy?” Blue demanded. “Turn him over to you, that’s literally your whole job. You’ll think of something.”

“I’m not in any state to—”

“Oh, fuck off, you’ll be fine. Doctor says you’re just banged up, is all. Bruises, couple of hairline fractures, broken rib—and the whole, y’know, rape thing.”

“Banged up,” Smoothie repeated. 

“You’ll be up and at ‘em again in a day or two, just take it easy. I need you in working order before Christmas, we’ve still got that job for the Bug. Meanwhile I’ll put the word out that I want Sax alive. Once my men bring him in, then, well. You can rape him right back, for all I care,” Blue snorted. 

“Might do that,” Smoothie said softly. 

“Might do that. There, that’s the spirit, that’s the Smoothie I know and love,” said Blue. He clapped one of his hands affectionately on his enforcer’s shoulder, ignoring the fact that it made Smoothie wince with pain. “I’ll get him, don’t you worry.”

Smoothie remembered one _other_ thing that Sax had said before knocking him out, and he licked his lips before glancing back up at Blue to say, “Do you have a way to find him, then? Maybe a phone number to trace, or something?”

“What?”

“You know, a phone number, or a—pager. He worked for you, surely you’ve got one.”

“He’s on the fuckin’ run. He’s not gonna answer his goddamn _cell phone_.”

“Might could trace it, though, if you knew how.”

“What?” Blue spat. “Do I look like the FBI? What do you think this is, Law And Order? SVU, in your fuckin’ case?”

“That’s—not appropriate,” Smoothie muttered half under his breath. 

“Not appropriate? Fuck right off, telling me that, knowing that _I’m_ the one paying your goddamn medical bills,” Blue said, obviously furious. He gave Smoothie one nasty sneer, then started for the door. He paused when he reached it, unable to resist throwing one final barb out before making his exit, and said, “I’ll find Sax soon enough, believe me. Once I’ve got that piece of shit under lock and key, I expect you to squeeze that password out of him one way or another. Try not to let him _fuck_ you next time, if it ain’t too much trouble.”

Smoothie watched him go, snorted under his breath, then muttered to himself, “No promises.”

He unhooked himself from the heart monitor and a few other machines, waving away an upset nurse who came running as a result. It was a mob hospital, after all, and Blue had already warned the staff that Smoothie wasn’t the type to stay put. His things had been left discreetly in one corner of the room—the torture implements were hidden under a modest white sheet, still on their cart, and his clothes had been shoved unceremoniously into a black plastic bag.

He grumbled to himself, irritated that no one had bothered to get him a change of clothes and equally irritated that he hadn’t been able to weasel Sax’s phone number out of Blue. There would be no finding the hitman now, not with Sax on the lam. Smoothie found it particularly disappointing that he would have to wait until

Blue’s men located the hitman. After all, he’d been hoping to get Sax alone for a repeat performance—one more time, at the very least. 

Smoothie dug through the plastic bag and noted with disgust that his clothes hadn’t even been washed. 

“Lazy,” he grumbled to himself. “Worthless hospital. Just unsanitary.”

He wanted to take the words back almost instantly. He pulled a handful of white fabric out of the bag and paused, noticing a few oddly-shaped bloodstains on his shirt. When he shook it out to look closer, he could just barely make out a phone number stained in blood, the digits seeping into one another. Smoothie let out one hushed, appreciative sound. 

He glanced back towards the door to make sure that Blue wasn’t lingering anywhere near, then hastily scoured the room for a pencil—there wasn’t one, but he found his cell phone, and that was good enough. He speedily plugged the number into his contact list and then let his finger hover over the call button. 

He didn’t want to call the day after. That would look desperate, he thought; obsessive, even. Smoothie didn’t want his desperation to be _that_ obvious. Still, he wanted to make sure it was the right number, and there was no denying how much he wanted to get his hands on Nick Sax again. He wasn’t entirely sure _what_ he wanted to do once he had Sax all to himself—part of him wanted nothing more than to turn the tables, to force Sax to submit to him and moan _his_ name, but another part of him loved the idea of letting the cruel, coarse hitman rough him up again. After all, no one had ever hit him quite like Sax did. Smoothie savored every lingering bruise and laceration the same way that anyone else might have cherished the memory of a first kiss. 

He _also_ liked the memory of the first kiss, of course, almost as much as he liked the bruises. 

Instead of calling he sent a quick, clipped text and tried to make it sound casual. He deleted five different drafts of it, rewording it over and over, until he finally settled on: _Smoothie. Tango again tonight?_

He sent it, hoping that it didn’t sound too clingy. That fear was almost immediately alleviated, because he got a response within a handful of seconds. 

It read: _lol._

About twenty seconds later another one followed it up: _sure thing, pretty._

Smoothie liked that, and he appreciated the fact that Sax was still calling him pretty, even if he wasn’t entirely sure what the _lol_ was about. 

His phone pinged again, and this time it read: _let’s leave business at the door, capeesh?_

“Pfft,” said Smoothie to himself. “Obviously.” 

He composed and re-composed his wordy response several times, then gave up and sent an emoji of a flamenco dancer and two clinking champagne glasses instead, to which Sax responded: _your place. mine’s swarming with mobsters._

The suggestion was more than Smoothie had been expecting, honestly; he would’ve been just as happy to meet Sax in a back alley somewhere. He might have even let the hitman shove him up against a wall between buildings and give him what he wanted quickly and quietly, without any fuss. 

Still, Smoothie loved the idea of getting Sax alone on his own home turf. He was sure that the hitman was expecting an ambush—after all, Smoothie was Blue’s top enforcer, and Sax knew how loyal he was to the Scaramucci family. Getting Sax to let his guard down wouldn’t be easy, but it would be well worth it. Once he was a few drinks in, he’d be totally at the killer’s mercy; then Smoothie could take his time deciding what to do with the helpless hitman. He still wasn’t sure whether he wanted revenge for last night or a repeat of it. Maybe there would be time for both. They wouldn’t be interrupted, after all, and he liked the idea of a longer, more intense _tango_. 

He gathered his things together and left, and spent the rest of the day trying to decide what kind of flowers would be appropriate. 

***

Nick Sax wasn’t used to making house calls. For the past ten years he’d only had sex in dimly lit whorehouse back rooms and the occasional bathroom stall. The idea of meeting someone in their own apartment—a _man_ , no less, and one of _Blue’s men_ , on top of that—was totally foreign to him. It felt a lot more proper and official than fucking Smoothie on the hospital floor in a puddle of blood, and Nick wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

He assumed it had to be a trap. No sane person would invite a scumbag like Nick into their home. Then again, Smoothie wasn’t exactly the perfect picture of _sanity_. Nick still remembered how rabid and wild-eyed the killer had looked underneath of him; the thought of it brought a big, self-satisfied grin to his face. The little tryst at the hospital had excited Nick more than anything else in his recent memory. He knew that he was risking his neck, but he was armed to the teeth, and he couldn’t pass up the chance to savor Blue’s favorite enforcer one more time.

Nick had left Happy in the glove compartment of the car, where his new imaginary friend was still sleeping off the effects of all the cocaine. It was probably best to let him sleep, and he wasn’t likely to escape or suffocate, given the whole “imaginary” thing. Besides, Nick _definitely_ wasn’t interested in hearing Happy’s opinion about what he was about to do to Smoothie—he’d already gotten an earful after last time, even though the tiny blue horse had turned tail and fled the room when things started getting nasty. Happy would probably complain about Nick wasting time; after all, he was supposed to be finding Hailey, not boning one of Blue’s men. Nick still wasn’t convinced that the missing girl was _his_ problem, though. Smoothie, on the other hand, definitely was—Nick hadn’t been able to get the killer’s vicious, insatiable smile out of his mind’s eye. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about how much he’d enjoyed himself back at the hospital. Every time he looked back on it, he started sweating. The flirting had started out as nothing more than another cruel game to tease the torturer with, and even penetrating Smoothie had _mostly_ been a matter of putting him in his place, but all bets were off once the killer kissed him. Nick hadn’t been able to resist that, and he still couldn’t get it out of his head. He wanted to feel it again; he wanted to hear that soft voice again, hissing his own name into his mouth in between those awful, twisted little moans. 

He wondered absentmindedly whether Smoothie would want an exact repeat of what had happened at the hospital, and if the killer’s body could even handle that. After all, it had barely been twenty-four hours. Smoothie was probably still in pretty bad shape.

The killer’s apartment building was nice—nicer than Nick had expected, even. It was one of the high-rise buildings near the Hudson River, just off of Wall Street, with obnoxious architecture in the lobby and a view of the water. Nick got more than a few nasty looks on his way in, which was fair given that he had a black eye and smelled like he’d just buried a hooker. No one stopped him, though, probably because he was holding a cheap bouquet of flowers and had a vague, apologetic look on his face. 

He stood outside of Smoothie’s door for the better part of five minutes, trying to justify everything in his mind and trying to gauge whether or not this was the mistake that would lead to his inevitable death. In the end he decided it didn’t matter, and knocked. 

When the door finally opened, Nick had one hand on the bouquet of flowers and the other on the gun in his coat pocket, ready to fire. He quickly let go of the latter when he saw Smoothie open the door with an easy little smile, and he thrust the fast-wilting bouquet forwards. 

“Errrr,” he said, by way of greeting. 

Smoothie took the flowers and stepped back, beckoning Nick inside with a silent, hungry stare. It was chilling, but Nick couldn’t deny how much he liked it; something about the killer’s coldness appealed to his dark side. 

“You don’t look as bad as I expected,” Nick noted when he stepped inside. “Not that you—well.”

“Hm,” said Smoothie, picking disapprovingly at the cheap flowers. The hitman wasn’t wrong. Smoothie’s face was badly bruised, and he limped lightly on his way into the apartment after he shut the door, but most of the damage hadn’t been permanent. 

Watching him limp like that stoked up something dangerous inside of Nick. It made him eager to feel out all of the bruises, to see how much day-old pain lingered in Smoothie’s body just underneath the skin. The thought of it set his heart racing. 

“Nice place,” Nick said, even though he’d only taken his eyes off of Smoothie for a second. Again, Nick wasn’t wrong; Smoothie’s apartment was sleek and white, with a few chic accents of color here and there. The furniture looked more practical than comfortable, and there was a vintage shag carpet dominating most of the living room floor, which Nick had _every_ intention of pounding Smoothie into. 

“It suffices. Drink?” the killer asked, depositing the flowers into a vase and limping into the kitchen. 

“I’d rather just get down to it,” Nick said gruffly. 

“Ooh. In a rush, are you?”

“Got places to be.”

“Afraid I’ll poison you?”

“Little bit,” Nick admitted. “Blue would pay you a pretty penny if you brought me in, wouldn’t he? He’s probably shitting himself over losing me. Surprised he even gave you the night off.”

“Medical leave of absence,” Smoothie said, fetching a bottle of gin from the liquor cabinet and pouring two drinks, ignoring Nick’s refusal. “Blue can be very accommodating when he’s distracted. Gin and tonic, or just gin?”

“Just gin,” Nick grumbled. “Can we get down to it?”

Smoothie eyed him from across the room, pouring tonic water into his own glass without looking to measure it. He smirked, noting how awkward and out-of-place Nick looked in the nice high rise apartment. The hitman was clearly out of his comfort zone. 

“You look nervous,” Smoothie said, with a giddy, sadistic edge to his voice. 

“Look, buddy, I didn’t come here to have a whole goddamn conversation,” Nick snapped. “I’m on the run. We’re not having a _sleepover_. Now do you want it, or not?”

Smoothie only smiled and made his way over to Nick, shoving the glass of gin forcefully into the hitman’s empty hands and leaning in close. The way Nick drew himself up and tried to steel himself only made his lack of confidence more obvious. Smoothie liked that; it meant that he had the upper hand, just like he’d been planning.

“You can search the apartment,” he said softly, letting his eyes move appreciatively over Nick’s body. “That’s what you’re worried about, isn’t it? That Blue and his men might be hidden just around the corner, waiting to pounce? You and I both agreed to leave our business at the door. You’re perfectly safe with me.” 

“Mm. And I’m supposed to believe that, coming from the guy who tried to chop my dick off yesterday?” Nick growled. 

Smoothie laughed and leaned in closer, close enough to make Nick’s skin prickle deliciously, and then said, “I have something different in mind for your _dick_ , Sax.” 

Nick’s mouth was watering, and he couldn’t tell whether it was his instinctive response to the glass of gin in his hand or whether it had more to do with the fact that he wanted to throw Smoothie down right now and take him by force. He hoped it was the gin, and he took a healthy swig of it. It didn’t taste peculiar, so he assumed that Smoothie hadn’t spiked it with anything deadly; then again, there was no way to be sure. 

“Care to show me what you’ve got in mind, pretty boy?” Nick suggested, letting his free arm wind around the killer’s waist to pull him closer insistently, hoping that would help him win back the upper hand. “I’ve got a couple ideas of my own. Might be some overlap, but anything worth doing once is worth doing twice.”

“Mmm. Is that what brought you here?”

“Yeah, you’re _definitely_ worth doing twice,” the hitman chuckled, squeezing Smoothie in the grip of his arm and letting his fingers dig into the small of the other man’s back. “Might be worth doing three or four times. Who knows? Night’s still young.” 

“I like the way you think, Sax.”

“Then I’m willing to bet you’re gonna like what I do next,” Nick growled. He finished off the glass of gin in one swig, swapped it for the full glass in Smoothie’s hand, and then downed that one too before tossing it over his shoulder and letting it shatter against the wall.

It only took him half a second to drop Smoothie to the floor with one deft sweep of the leg, and the agonized sound Smoothie made was even more satisfying to Nick than the sensation of crushing him into the floorboards. Nick didn’t waste time thinking; he forced the killer into a harsh, dominating kiss. It was exactly what he wanted, exactly what he’d been imagining and _aching_ for, ever since yesterday—his whole body thrilled to it, especially when he felt Smoothie fighting back and struggling to push him off. 

“W— _mff_. Wait,” Smoothie managed in a pained, breathless little voice. “Wait, wait.”

Nick wasn’t interested in waiting. He’d never kissed another man of his own volition before, and he didn’t want to pause long enough to let himself think about what it meant. It felt impossible to keep his hands off of Smoothie’s body, but he managed it, just barely. It was enough to pin him down and loom over him, enough to admire the excitement written all over Smoothie’s face.

“Thought you wanted to tango,” the hitman said gruffly. 

“Mm. Yes. _Yes_ , absolutely,” Smoothie said, raking his nails greedily down the front of Nick’s chest. “But not here. Bedroom.”

“You look good on the floor, though. Like you did yesterday.”

“Sax,” Smoothie said softly into Nick’s ear. “I’d rather we take our time. Enjoy it. Yesterday was all such a blur.” 

“Fair point,” Nick admitted. He liked the sensation of Smoothie’s lips against him, Smoothie’s breath ghosting over his skin. It was hard to argue with something as tempting as that, even if he didn’t trust the killer. “Wouldn’t mind enjoying it a bit more…thoroughly. Wouldn’t say no to another drink, either.”

Smoothie smiled up at him, wincing through the mess of bruises on his face. He tried to go for another kiss, but Nick stopped him with the grip of one firm, unyielding hand and then pushed himself up from the floor. He grabbed Smoothie by the collar and yanked him to his feet, smirking at the hiss of pain the other man let out. 

Nick couldn’t resist running his fingers over the angry bite mark he’d left imprinted on Smoothie’s jawbone. That was enough to drive a soft, masochistic whine out of the killer, one that Nick particularly appreciated. 

“I really messed you up last night,” he said, unable to keep the hint of pride out of his voice. “Those bruises are gonna feel like a picnic compared to what I’m gonna do to you next. You like that, sicko?”

“Very much,” Smoothie sighed. 

“Hoping I’ll finish the job?” Nick demanded, tightening his fingers viciously against Smoothie’s injured jaw just to hear him whine again. “You were itching to let me turn that pretty little face of yours inside-out yesterday, baby. If there’s another hitman waiting to drag me off to Blue in that bedroom of yours, I won’t even think twice about it. They’ll be scrubbing you out of the floorboards long after some other schmuck rents this place out.”

Smoothie made no secret of how much he liked hearing that—Nick saw his eyes light up at the thought. 

“Naughty boy. Just thinking about it gets you all hot and heavy, doesn’t it?” the hitman laughed. “Never seen anyone flirt with death the way you do. Desperate son of a bitch.” 

“Mm. Desperate?” Smoothie said keenly, casting his eyes over Nick once more. “Not desperate enough to show up alone in enemy territory just for the sake of a quick lay.” 

“Mm. Quick?” Nick countered. “I wouldn’t count on that if I were you, pretty boy.”

He yanked the killer closer and took a moment to enjoy how helpless Smoothie felt in his grip. Without Blue’s men backing him up, Smoothie was no match for Nick’s strength and stature; he wasn’t just easy to subdue, he was _fun_ to subdue. The fact that he _very_ obviously loved every second of it only made Nick more inclined to treat him with an iron fist. 

Nick let his teeth scrape the killer’s ear when he leaned in to growl, “Grab the gin and show me to the bedroom, handsome. I’m sick of talking to you. We’ve got better things to do.” 

“Couldn’t agree more,” Smoothie managed, flustered by the hitman’s hot breath against his skin. Nick released him and shoved him roughly in the direction of the kitchen, following behind like a lion on the prowl. He was still scanning the apartment as if he expected a hail of bullets to rain down on him at any minute, but Smoothie could tell that the hitman was easing up slowly but surely. It wouldn’t be long before he let his guard down completely. 

Smoothie grabbed the bottle of gin and went for a glass, but Nick stopped his hand with a tight grip on his wrist.

“Just the bottle. C’mon,” he insisted, giving the killer another demanding shove towards the hallway. Smoothie tolerated it and let one of his hands trail down the front of Nick’s scarf, pulling him along toward the bedroom with a seductive little smirk. 

He flicked the lights on when they reached the room and made a vague, bored gesture. “No hidden assassins, Sax. No bogeymen. Only these,” he said, dropping the bottle of gin on the bed and picking up a bouquet of roses, which he offered up to Nick with an innocent smile. The hitman was still lingering in the doorway, looking suspicious—Nick had one hand on his gun again, and he threw his eyes in the direction of the bathroom and the closet. 

“No one in there?” he demanded. 

“You can check, if you like. There’s no one here but us.”

“Better safe than sorry. You know how it is,” Nick said with a curt smirk, drawing his gun to scope out the bathroom. There was nothing there; just a nice tub and a somewhat extensive selection of hair products. There was nothing in the closet, either, apart from a collection of suits, ties, and a suspicious amount of rubber and black latex, which Nick pointedly ignored.

“Alright, fine,” he said, satisfied at last, shoving his gun back into the pocket of his coat. “No assassins.”

Smoothie had already placed himself patiently on the edge of the bed, flowers in hand. His smile looked _genuine_ , of all things—Nick hadn’t expected that. He’d been looking forward to the frenzied, feverish need that Smoothie had shown yesterday while Nick was balls deep in him, not the soft smile that Smoothie was giving him now. It looked sweet; _almost_ sweet enough to make Nick feel guilty about all of those bruises. 

“Roses, huh?” Nick said, approaching the bed with an easy grin, slipping off his gloves. “You got better taste than I do. Real romantic of you.”

“Hm. What can I say? You made me feel quite a _spark_.” 

“Bet I made you feel a few busted ribs, too.”

“Just one.”

“Might give you another, if you promise to behave yourself,” Nick offered while he stripped off his coat and let it fall to the floor in a heap. He took the flowers from Smoothie’s hand and then pushed the killer down flat onto the bed with one quick, rough motion. 

“Behave? Mmm. No promises,” said Smoothie, both eyes sparkling, a nasty grin creeping across his face when Nick buried his face in the bouquet of roses and breathed in deep. The hitman straddled him forcefully, and then smirked down at him. 

“No promises? Then I’ll have to—make you—behhhhhaaaavvvvvmmm…” Nick slurred, confused. It hit him in an instant; the room was spinning, more than it had been already as a result of the gin. His brows furrowed in suspicion, and just before his vision faded to black, he looked at the flowers and croaked out, “ _Ssssonofabitch_.” 

Smoothie watched with a smug, satisfied grin on his face as Nick toppled to the floor. 

“Like I said,” he sighed to himself, sitting up and tilting his head to admire the sight of the fallen hitman. “No promises!” 

***

The moment Nick’s eyes opened, he knew he was in deep shit. 

He couldn’t move—or rather, he could _barely_ move. He’d been tied up just tightly enough to let him squirm a little, but there would be no getting out of it. Smoothie had learned from his past mistakes; he’d reinforced the ropes and cuffs, making sure that Nick was immobilized and completely unable to escape. Nick was tied to a chair, and not a comfortable one, either. The numbness in his legs told him that he’d been unconscious for a while, and when he tried to yank his wrists loose from the chair’s leather cuffs, he felt splinters dig in from the wood underneath. 

“Awake, are we?” came Smoothie’s familiar, lighthearted voice, making Nick snap to attention immediately. He could see the killer across the room with his back turned, wearing one of those rubber kill aprons, his fingers dancing over a collection of deadly blades displayed on the wall. 

“You piece of shit,” Nick muttered under his breath, trying to yank his wrists free again. It was useless. He was trapped, and he was pissed about it. “So what, gonna turn me over to Blue? I ain’t got his fuckin’ password, but I’m sure he’ll still kiss your ass for bringing me in. You’re gonna be employee of the goddamn month, douchebag.”

He heard Smoothie laugh. The sound was accompanied by a threatening cacophony of harsh, metallic noises which rang out while Smoothie sorted through his tools. His fingers moved lackadaisically over each of them, as if he couldn’t quite decide which one to start with. 

“Blue? Ohh, no, no, no,” Smoothie said, in a voice as sweet and insincere as the smile he cast over one shoulder. 

“No?”

“I wouldn’t dream of turning you over to Blue, Sax. Not before I’ve had my fill of you,” the killer informed him. Nick watched him fill a syringe with something nasty and translucent and then set it on a metal cart to one side. Smoothie went on, “I could give you over to him, yes. Might even get a commendation for it. But it wouldn’t be _nearly_ as satisfying as what I have in store for you. You require more than the standard run-of-the-mill treatment, after all.”

“Ohh, I get the deluxe service,” Nick snorted. 

“Exactly, Sax. _Exactly_.”

“Shame I’m gonna have to break every bone in your body when I inevitably get outta here. I really thought we were, y’know.”

“Thought we were what?” 

“Thought we had some real chemistry happening, if I’m bein’ honest. I was looking forward to our tango, baby,” Nick admitted with a rough little sigh. He heard Smoothie laugh again, not quite as wickedly as he had the first time. 

“This _is_ our tango,” the killer said fondly.

He finished assembling the collection of torture implements on his cart and wheeled it over, noting the way that Nick doubled his efforts to free himself from the leather cuffs. Smoothie found that _almost_ as charming as the miniscule spark of fear that lit up in Nick’s eyes. He let his hands come to rest on top of the cuffs and gave Nick a sultry little smile, leaning in to see if his closeness would set the hitman on edge. It seemed to do the opposite.

“Mmm. You look irresistible like this,” Smoothie said, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip and devouring Nick with his eyes. He let one set of fingers tease the back of Nick’s coarse knuckles with a tender touch. “You know, you really got the better of me yesterday. I was impressed. Not just by your sexual prowess, though that was _probably_ my favorite part.” 

“Glad I could entertain you,” Nick deadpanned.

“You really did. At first I wanted to do it all over again—let you hit me, let you _use_ me the way that you did,” Smoothie said with a wistful sigh. He closed his eyes to savor the memory of it while he traced Nick’s knuckles with one gentle fingertip. “ _Mmm_. It was incredible. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before.”

“Same here, pretty,” Nick said, straining against the bonds, closing barely an inch of the distance between them. He let a smile creep onto his face. “Let me outta these cuffs and we’ll do it all over again, how’s that sound?”

“Lovely. Though not quite as lovely as what I have planned for our date tonight.”

“I’m on the edge of my seat,” Nick lied. 

“I’m sure. I tied you there.”

“Nice knots. Boy Scouts?”

“Mm, no. I didn’t quite qualify.”

“What, just because you’ve got no dick? Or because you hacked someone to death on the first camping trip?”

Smoothie smiled at him, leaning in to nuzzle the tip of his nose against Nick’s own. He gave the hitman one soft, teasing peck on the lips and then turned his attention back to the cart full of torture implements, scanning each one with a keen, practiced eye. 

“You really were a delight last night, Sax. Don’t you worry—I’ll take _very_ good care of you. You might even enjoy yourself, if you keep an open mind,” he said, flashing Nick another warm grin and selecting a nasty, lethal pair of shears. “Now, go ahead and relax. It’ll only hurt a little, at first. I plan on taking my time with you.”

Nick swallowed, unable to take his eyes off of the shears, his mind already jumping to a dozen different disgusting places. There was no telling what Smoothie would do to him with those; he hoped against hope that Smoothie couldn’t see the concern in his eyes when the killer gave the shears one experimental snap. 

“Look, you don’t have to—come on, baby, we can still talk this out. I brought you flowers and everything,” Nick said as casually as he could. His anxiety crept into his voice, and that only widened Smoothie’s smile.

The killer hushed him softly, then moved in with the shears. Nick tracked every motion of the weapon with his eyes. He was so focused on the light glinting off the metal that he barely noticed what Smoothie was doing until he felt the killer ease into his lap and settle comfortably into place. Smoothie’s thighs squeezed his own on either side, sending an unfair, delicious tremor through Nick’s body. He tried to focus on the shears, but got lost in the heat of Smoothie’s body and the fresh, clean smell of his breath. It was too easy to get overwhelmed, especially now that Smoothie had him right where he wanted him.

The killer’s free hand traced down the front of Nick’s body, appreciating every inch, and then knotted into the hem of Nick’s stained white shirt. Nick felt him lifting it, felt him twisting the fabric in between his fingers and then breathing in the scent of it. It was everything Nick could do to bite back an excited groan—he didn’t want to admit how much he liked being touched by those keen, cruel hands. Even the threat of torture couldn’t overpower how _good_ Smoothie felt in his lap or how tantalizing those touches were. 

“Ohh, _Sax_ ,” Smoothie sighed, bringing the shears to bear. He caught Nick’s gaze and held it while he lowered the deadly implement, tracing the thick line of hair along Nick’s belly with the sharp tip. Nick couldn’t help but squirm when he felt the cold metal edging closer and closer to his belt. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until Smoothie snipped the hem of his shirt instead of his skin, prompting him to heave out a sigh of relief. The killer smiled, snipping a clean, precise path up the front of Nick’s thermal shirt and settling in closer to feel out the hitman’s exposed chest. He let his lips brush across Nick’s skin on the way up to his ear and then whispered, “I can already feel you getting _hard_.” 

Nick closed his eyes and tried to will it away, even though it was undeniably true; the blood was already rushing to his dick. 

“Now, now, no need to be shy,” Smoothie said in that same soft, encouraging voice, nuzzling into him. “Go ahead, handsome. Think about how _good_ it felt when you were inside me, hm?”

“Mrrrgh,” Nick grumbled hatefully. He felt the tip of those shears trailing across his skin again, mapping out the contours of his chest and belly. He finally opened his eyes and turned his head as much as he could until he felt his lips meet the skin of Smoothie’s neck. He didn’t bother to hide the desperation in his voice when he said, “Bet you’re thinking about the same thing.”

“Oh, _absolutely._ You were a dream come true.”

“What are we waiting for, then? Put your nasty little toys away and let’s have at it,” Nick offered, hoping that the seductive edge in his voice would be enough to secure his freedom, or at least enough to delay whatever inevitable pain Smoothie had in store for him. “C’mon, pretty boy, I know you want me. Bad enough to keep me all to yourself, isn’t that right?”

Smoothie’s fingers found Nick’s belt and gave it an aggressive yank. He let the hitman’s lips linger against his neck, reveling in the fact that he could already feel Nick’s breath trembling. When he lowered the shears to cut quickly and brutally through the thick leather of Nick’s belt, he heard the hitman mutter a desperate little curse under his breath. That brought a smile to Smoothie’s face, one that stayed in place while he slipped the belt from Nick’s pants and doubled it up in one hand. 

“All to myself,” he sighed in agreement. “You’re right, Sax. I _do_ want you. And I plan to have you—I think you might even like that part.”

“Might like it better without all the bondage.”

“Would you, now? You seem to be enjoying yourself,” Smoothie said, letting the heavy leather belt trace the outline of Nick’s erection. He was having difficulty containing his own excitement—Nick’s body was even more impressive under close observation. Smoothie wanted to touch every last inch of it. More than that, he wanted to force the hitman into submission; having this much power over him made it impossible to resist. He was determined not to rush, though. Nick Sax deserved the full benefit of his attention to detail. And, incidentally, Smoothie felt like _he_ deserved a chance to appreciate all of Nick’s finer qualities before he started in on pulling out screams. 

“You wanted me so _badly_ last night,” he murmured, gauging Nick’s reaction, measuring the hitman’s quick, shallow breaths. “I found it very charming. Seductive, even. Would’ve let you do _anything_ to me. Do you feel the same way, right now, knowing how much I want you?”

“Maybe,” Nick said evasively. 

“You were so forceful. I loved that. Should I be just as forceful with you?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Hmm. Keep an open mind. You might enjoy it.”

“I doubt that.”

Smoothie let the shears tear through the denim of Nick’s pants. He patiently snipped along the length of Nick’s prominent bulge and made sure Nick felt the threat of the metal against his shaft—when Nick shuddered hopelessly underneath of him, he knew he’d gotten the point across. 

“Smoothie, baby, listen,” Nick said in the most convincing voice he could muster, wincing when he felt the shears move lower to tear through the inseam of his jeans. “I get it. You’re into the kinky shit. To be completely honest, I’m not hating half of it, myself. You want me tied up, then sure, keep me tied up—not gonna lie, I’m kind of into it. But let’s leave it at that, right? Why waste all your fun in one go? Can’t live to fuck you another day if you chop my dick off tonight, now can I?”

“Is that still what you want?” Smoothie inquired, leaning in dangerously close. “To _fuck_ me again?”

“More than I want to win the lottery.”

“Mmm.”

“Like I said, pretty boy,” Nick offered with a lazy smirk. “You’re worth doing twice.”

“Such a charmer.” Smoothie snipped idly through the remainder of Nick’s jeans until they were nothing more than tatters, then repositioned himself back in the hitman’s lap. He couldn’t help but rock his hips into the tempting bulge of Nick’s erection; he sank his teeth into his lip and looked down to admire the sight of it between his legs. When he looked back up, Nick’s face was a mask of desperation. “Ohh, _look_ at you, Sax. You can hardly contain yourself. Need me to help you with that? Remove what ails you?”

Smoothie offered up an innocent little smile and snapped the shears together threateningly in the air. “It only hurts until the shock sets in. Then for a month or two afterwards.”

“Very funny,” Nick grumbled. “Speaking from experience?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Well, far be it from me to steal your niche.”

“You’re right. Might as well leave the penis, can’t rob you of your best quality,” Smoothie said, very reasonably, with a whimsical little shrug. “Let’s start with standard castration. Quick and easy.”

“I—Smoothie, wait—”

The killer had already sliced through Nick’s boxers with one swift, businesslike motion and torn them open. He looped the doubled-up belt around Nick’s ballsack and gave it a controlling tug, shifting back in Nick’s lap to get a better angle with the shears. 

“Stop. _Stop_ ,” Nick ordered, his voice taking on the exact note of terror that Smoothie had been yearning to hear. Another threatening snip of the shears dangerously close to his scrotum brought out the words, “—Smoothie, _please_.”

“Hmmm,” the killer said, pausing. He froze idly in place with the shears open, in position, and poised to deliver a cut that Nick would never forget. He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Then again, it felt so _nice_ when you finished. When you _came_ in me, Sax. Didn’t it?”

“Fuck—umm, yep,” Nick stammered, willing to say literally anything to get the shears away from his balls. It occurred to him that he wasn’t even lying; he remembered emptying himself into the killer’s tight body and loving every second of it. 

“Mm. _So_ satisfying. Better leave those, then, at least for now,” Smoothie said with a shrug. He placed the shears back on the cart with the rest of his torture devices and released the belt around Nick’s ballsack, smirking when he heard Nick’s breath rush out of his lungs in a huff of relief. He let the belt fall to the floor with a clatter. 

Smoothie’s hands traced their way up Nick’s body, starting between his thighs and traversing all the tender spots of his torso before coming to rest on either side of his face. He leaned in and brushed his lips against Nick’s own, expecting the hitman to recoil in fear like any _sane_ man might have done. Instead he felt Nick’s lips catch him insistently; Smoothie couldn’t resist letting the hitman have his way. Nick kissed him like he actually _meant_ it, as if it were his way of thanking Smoothie for showing mercy. 

“Still interested in fucking me again?” Smoothie asked when he broke away, bitter and sarcastic. 

He didn’t expect the answer that Nick rasped out between his teeth; “More than _anything_ , you miserable fuckin’ psychopath.” 

“Ooh. Really, now?”

“Knock off the torture and let me give it to you,” Nick demanded, straining towards him, trying to catch Smoothie’s lips again and missing him by less than an inch. “Come on, pretty little thing, give it up. We both know how this ends.”

“Do we? Enlighten me.”

“You can’t resist me, I can’t resist you; we have ourselves a saucy little tango and then you decide I’m worth more to you alive than dead,” Nick growled seductively. “Isn’t that right?” 

“Very tempting, Sax.”

“C’mon. No point in sparing the dick if you’re not gonna use it. Something tells me you’re not the merciful type unless it suits you.”

“See? Such a nice date,” Smoothie sighed fondly, stroking Nick’s cheeks and running his fingers through the coarse stubble of the hitman’s beard. “We’re getting to know each other so well!”

“Might as well get to know each other more intimately, then,” Nick offered. “It’s your day off. Take a chill pill, loosen up a little—maybe loosen some of these ropes while you’re at it. I’ll make it worth your while, sweetheart.”

Smoothie let out a small, satisfied sound. He couldn’t deny how tempting the hitman’s words were. It was nice to see Nick settling in to the softcore torture, and even nicer to see that the gleam of desire in Nick’s eyes still hadn’t faded. Smoothie hadn’t been expecting that. 

“You keep catching me off guard,” he noted, trailing his fingers along Nick’s powerful shoulders, toying with the ropes and straps. “Impressing me. Even now.”

“Very flattering. You tryin’ to get in my pants? Ah, damn—already cut ‘em off, though, didn’t you?”

Smoothie slid himself out of the hitman’s lap, and Nick was more than a little bit surprised to find that he missed the heat of the killer’s slender body against him. He strained against the bonds again eagerly when he saw Smoothie’s hands undoing the clasps and buckles of his rubber kill apron. Once it dropped to the floor, Smoothie’s belt quickly followed. Nick watched, transfixed, while the killer slipped himself out of his khakis and let them crumple to his ankles. 

There was something eerily tempting about the sight of Smoothie’s body—Nick couldn’t help but stare. He hated the fact that Smoothie left his ridiculous shoes and socks on as he shook himself out of the khakis. Smoothie looked so obnoxious, so _punchable_ , but still so slim and pretty. Nick couldn’t stop thinking about how amazing it would feel to crush the other man’s body in his arms again. When Smoothie slid the waistband of his briefs down and stepped out of them, Nick couldn’t keep from letting out an appreciative little sound. 

“Still fuckin’ creepy,” he said, even though he didn’t sound fully convinced, narrowing his eyes and grimacing at the sight of the killer’s smooth surgical scars. “Can’t even cum, can you? Got nothin’ useful down there.” 

“You’d be surprised,” the killer said with an easy laugh. He left his shirt and tie on, which Nick hated just as much as the shoes and socks, and then trailed his hands up Nick’s bare thighs before easing himself back into the hitman’s lap. Nick let his eyes drift shut and groaned deep in his throat when he felt Smoothie’s skin against his own, especially when those horrific scars pressed up against his erection. Smoothie’s arms wound around Nick’s neck affectionately, and when he leaned in to press his lips against Nick’s ear again his voice was light and teasing. “Or rather, you _will_ be surprised. There’s no reason we can’t both enjoy ourselves. It certainly _feels_ like you’re having fun.” 

“Oh, I’m having— _holy shit_ ,” Nick started, faltering when he felt Smoothie’s hips grind into him. “I wouldn’t exactly call it _fun_ , per say, let’s call it a _memorable experience_.” 

“Very good,” Smoothie said. He rewarded the hitman with another gentle grind of his hips and grinned when it resulted in a long, low groan. “Ohh, you like that? Chomping at the bit, aren’t you?”

“Might be,” Nick admitted throatily. 

“I _could_ be inclined to help you out with that, if you’ll do one _tiny_ little favor, just for me.”

“And what’s that?” 

“Say my name,” the killer demanded. His voice took a turn for the worse, sharp and dangerous—his hands followed suit, both sets of nails sinking insistently into Nick’s skin while he raked them up the back of Nick’s neck. “You couldn’t force _yours_ out of me last night until you were inside me. I’ll let you feel that again, Sax. Let you have another go. Right now, in fact. All you have to do is look me in the eye and say _Smoothie_.” 

He forced Nick’s face toward his own with one vicious, unfeeling gesture. He was still smiling, but there was nothing genuine about it anymore. Even the gentle curve of his lips looked cruel. 

If it had been the threat of pain on the table instead of the promise of Smoothie’s body, Nick might have held out longer. He was used to pain, and it didn’t mean anything to him; he’d lost enough fights and taken enough punches to turn a blind eye to it. But right now, with his cock aching and locked between Smoothie’s thighs, there was no sense in trying to put on a brave face. After all, Nick was trapped. He had nothing to lose, and everything to gain. 

“Smoothie,” he said as if he were hypnotized, letting his gaze rove over the killer’s face. He liked that sadistic smile. It looked good on Smoothie; he pulled it off in a way that Nick found particularly appealing. 

The killer fixed Nick with a pitying little pout. “Giving in already? Are you really _that_ easily subdued?”

“Not like you’re offering something I don’t want.”

“You don’t have a shred of pride, do you?”

“Not even a fuckin’ molecule.”

“Hmm. Pathetic,” Smoothie said, an affectionate note creeping back into his voice while he ran his hands down Nick’s body again. He licked his lips and weighed his words, then said, “I _like_ that about you.”

Smoothie sorted through the racks on the cart until he located a bottle of lube. He poured a generous amount into one hand and brought it to Nick’s erection, giving the hitman another nasty smirk while he watched Nick’s composure crack underneath the sensation of being touched. Nick _tried_ not to look like he was having a breakdown, but he couldn’t help himself; after all the torturous teasing, Smoothie’s fingers felt indescribably good. There was nothing he could do except grit his teeth and mumble a string of blasphemous words under his breath. 

“Having fun yet?” Smoothie demanded. A thrill chased up his spine when he ran his fingers up the impressive length of Nick’s cock and then back down again. “I know I am.”

“ _Smoothie_.” 

“Ohh, you _are_ desperate, aren’t you?” the killer said softly, looking back up into Nick’s eyes to admire the insatiable look on his face. “Adorable. Really ought to put you out of your misery. I’d hate to make you _suffer_ for too long.”

“Uncuff me first,” Nick said. He wanted it to sound like an order, but the words came out too hastily, and that made him sound like he was flat-out begging. Smoothie let out an obnoxious little scoff of denial.

“Don’t be silly.”

“Wanna touch you.”

“Of course you do. But you can’t. That’s half the fun,” the killer hissed into his ear, repositioning himself in Nick’s lap and wiping the remnants of lube off onto the hitman’s chest. He tilted Nick’s chin up to meet his gaze while he maneuvered Nick’s cock to his entrance, then ordered, “Now, say _please_ , Sax.” 

“Holy shit, please,” Nick managed hoarsely. 

There was no sense in tormenting him any longer, now that Nick’s resolve was already broken. Besides, Smoothie was eager to feel the hitman inside him again. 

He didn’t even have to force Nick to look at him; the hitman did that of his own accord, his mouth falling open with a helpless, guttural sound when Smoothie pressed down onto him. Once Smoothie had worked the head of Nick’s cock inside, the rest was almost easy. He sank down onto it, shuddering delightedly against Nick’s body and clinging to the back of the chair for support. A hysterical little laugh escaped his lips once he’d stuffed the whole length in. 

“You feel— _mff! Fantastic_ ,” he sighed, clamping his hands onto Nick’s tense shoulders and digging his fingernails in. That only made the hitman strain towards him more eagerly. Nick was clawing at the arms of the wooden chair and panting with need, as if he couldn’t stand being restrained for a moment longer. 

“So do you,” he choked out. Smoothie’s body felt even _nicer_ with proper lubrication, if Nick was being completely honest. The way the killer took him in deep and then settled against his hips was irresistible. Smoothie was terribly slow about it, clearly taking his time to appreciate every last inch while he worked Nick’s cock in and out of his tight, lithe body. 

It was the opposite of everything Nick had done to him last night; measured and calculated, not frenzied and impulsive. There was still some pain, but Smoothie didn’t mind that. The satisfaction of watching Nick fall to pieces underneath of him more than made up for it. He ground himself down onto the hitman’s cock each time he took it in, never taking his eyes off of Nick’s helpless, hypnotized face. 

“Having _fun_ yet?” he demanded coldly, rolling his hips against Nick’s own to drive him in deeper. The hitman let out a sharp groan in response. 

“—Jesus _Christ_ ,” Nick growled. “Uncuff me.”

“Mm! Absolutely not.”

“Not gonna break loose. Not even gonna snap your fuckin’ spine in half,” Nick offered in desperation. “Just let me touch you, that’s it. Just let me—”

Smoothie’s lips silenced him, pressing softly against his own at first, then more insistently as the killer picked up the pace of his hips. Nick hated how good it felt and how eagerly he leaned into it. He could barely even squirm, but he tried his best. It was impossible to resist trying to push himself up into Smoothie’s body, especially with Smoothie kissing him so thoroughly and so sweetly. The killer even let Nick’s teeth catch his lips, let Nick’s tongue explore his mouth, all to savor the terrible, demanding groan that Nick let out into him. 

“Let me touch you,” the hitman ordered again, more insistently, raking his nails into the wooden arms of the chair hard enough to give himself handfuls of splinters. He kissed Smoothie again twice as eagerly, without caring how sloppy or desperate he looked. When the killer pushed him away with a little laugh, Nick snarled, “Come on, douchebag, I’m not gonna get loose—even if I did, I wouldn’t be done with you.”

That made Smoothie smile, and he picked up the pace again, working himself hard against the hitman’s body. Having Nick completely under his control felt spectacular; almost as spectacular as Nick’s cock, which was hitting _all_ the right places. Smoothie wasn’t usually impressed by human anatomy, having cut up enough people that they all looked the same to him by now—but Nick was a _very_ notable exception. He couldn’t find anything that he didn’t like about Nick. The chiseled face and broad shoulders, the length and girth of his cock, the heavy, masculine scent dripping off of him, muddled with the smell of dirt and alcohol—Smoothie savored all of it, couldn’t get enough of it. It made every thrust of his hips feel like a _victory_. 

Nick was lost in the pleasure of it all, hating himself for not hating what was happening. He couldn’t deny how much he loved it. The slick, snug grip of Smoothie’s body around his dick was blowing his mind in the _best_ way. Every sound that escaped Smoothie’s lips was different than the symphony of nasty, masochistic gasps he’d been full of last night; now each one spoke of satisfaction. Little sighs of pleasure and soft, affectionate laughter that only sounded cruel about seventy percent of the time. Nick wasn’t used to sounds like that. It had been years since anyone had enjoyed fucking him with any sincerity—a few hookers had pretended, but Nick knew he wasn’t an especially exciting lay. He was always too drunk, or too quick to finish, or too rude and careless. He was _certainly_ never tied up to a chair, being ridden hard by a man with a reputation for torture. _That_ was all new, and he didn’t want to admit that he was loving every second of it, even though each of Smoothie’s ecstatic little sounds brought Nick closer and closer to the edge. 

Something about the hitch of Nick’s breath must have made it obvious, because Smoothie tightened one hand around the hitman’s rugged jaw and squeezed it. 

“Getting there already, are you?” he asked, sounding equally amused and excited. “Mmm, that’s _perfect_ , Sax. So responsive. I _like_ it.”

“Don’t mind?” Nick mumbled in confusion. He was starting to lose his ability to piece words together, and that only got worse when Smoothie doubled his efforts. 

“Don’t mind how quickly you cum? Of course not. That’ll only make the next part more fun.” 

“Next—?”

Smoothie let out a breathless little laugh and then hushed the hitman aggressively. He wasn’t being gentle anymore; now he forced himself down onto Nick’s cock with cruel, harsh jerks of his hips, as if he meant to work both of them into a frenzy. Nick was powerless to resist it. He gave in, ignoring the fact that he was scraping red runnels into the arms of the chair, even ignoring the fact that he could feel his fingers bleeding. It was nothing compared to the cresting sensation of orgasm welling up inside. If anything, the pain only made him more desperate for release. 

Smoothie’s voice was snide and satisfied at his ear, whispering words of encouragement that Nick could barely make out. The only thing he heard with absolute clarity was the final command, snarled against his skin while Smoothie’s grip on his face tightened irresistibly: “ _Cum_ for me, Sax. _Now_.” 

Nick’s body responded even though his mind fritzed out. He felt the burst of pleasure go off like a bullet from a semi-automatic, and he didn’t even try to hold back the animalistic sound that came out of him when it happened. Every muscle in his body tensed up, since there was nothing else his body could do, caught as it was between the mess of ropes and the incredible heat of Smoothie’s thighs. Nothing else mattered except for those few seconds of absolute ecstasy—for just a few moments Nick felt _unstoppable_.

Nothing compared to the sensation of finishing inside the warm grip of Smoothie’s body. It felt as spectacular as it had the day before, maybe even more so. Nothing else existed except the two of them, at least for that handful of seconds; the euphoria of filling Smoothie up like that surpassed everything else, even the pain. When it was over Nick felt the killer’s fingers raking through his hair, then Smoothie’s lips on his neck and his jaw, laying smug, satisfied kisses there in a mockery of actual intimacy. 

“Ohh, _Sax_ ,” Smoothie groaned delightedly against him with one last, savoring roll of his hips. “ _Amazing_.” 

Nick’s mind was swimming. For a few moments all he could think about was how badly he wanted Smoothie to kiss him again, and how good it would feel to pull him in close enough to crush. He only snapped out of it when he felt the pain sinking into his fingertips and remembered his predicament. 

He hated it when Smoothie’s lips left his skin, and when the killer’s hands slid away from his body he almost begged Smoothie to put them back. The request got caught in his throat when he saw the killer pick up a syringe from the nearby metal cart. 

“It takes me a bit longer,” Smoothie said conversationally, holding the needle up to the light and tapping out a few air bubbles. He cast his eyes down toward Nick again with a little smirk. “But you’ll be perfectly willing to accommodate, I’m sure. And even if you aren’t, well! You won’t have much of a choice, now, will you?” 

“Smoothie, I’ve—look, _don’t_ ,” Nick started, watching anxiously as the killer grabbed one of his arms and started searching for a vein. “I don’t know what the fuck that is, but I’ve got a pretty bad heart issue, had a couple, uhh—”

“Heart attacks? Even better,” Smoothie said with an excited gleam in his eye. “Always wanted to see if I could fuck someone to death. Much nicer way to go than any of the alternatives on the table for you, too.”

“Jesus Christ,” Nick muttered. 

He scowled when the needle pierced him. The liquid was nasty and cold, and there was something sick and sexual about the sound Smoothie made when he injected it, as well as the look on his face when he caught Nick’s gaze. He watched and waited for a few moments while it kicked in, observing the symptoms carefully. When he saw Nick’s pupils dilate, he smiled. 

“There we go. Won’t be long now,” he said, leaning in to press another soft, taunting kiss against Nick’s jaw. 

“Was that Viagra?”

“Hmm. So much worse.”

“You’re fucking insane.”

“It’s my finest quality,” Smoothie said with a bright, insincere grin. He looked down at Nick’s hands. “Oh, look at you. Torn yourself up, have you? We’ll have to fix that afterwards. Don’t want you losing too much blood too soon.”

“Smoothie,” Nick said urgently, trying to fight the sensation of his heart rate spiking at an unnatural pace. “I don’t—feel so good. Let me—uncuff me and I’ll do what you want, just—”

“Shh, shh. Don’t strain yourself. Wouldn’t want that heart attack to come on too soon. Just relax into it. It’ll feel better.”

“Smoothie, c’mon, you—don’t want me dead,” Nick tried, even though he wasn’t quite sure it was true anymore. 

“Mm. We’ll roll the dice,” Smoothie said. He took Nick’s face in his hands again to drink in the fear on the hitman’s face. “Consider yourself a gambling man, Sax?”

“Please, don’t.”

“Ohhh, _please_?” 

“Please.”

“Very, very tempting. But I know you wouldn’t want to leave me unsatisfied. I was _almost_ there, right before you came,” Smoothie sighed into his ear. He sounded dazzled, as if the thought of it surprised him just as much as it surprised Nick. “I _know_ you’ll be a gentleman and see to all of my needs. Won’t you?”

Nick was sweating. He felt it breaking out all over his body while his skin went hot, while his heartbeat thrummed in his ears—he was starting to feel dizzy, and he could feel himself getting hard again, his cock stiffening up even though the soft organ was still buried inside the tight heat of Smoothie’s asshole. The killer felt it too; Nick could tell by the way his eyes lit up. 

“ _There_ we go,” he hissed. He clung to Nick’s shoulders and sank his teeth into his bottom lip with a low, needy groan. “ _Perfect_.”

He was grinding himself into Nick’s lap again before Nick was even at half mast, clearly eager for more. Nick couldn’t do anything but grit his teeth and bear it; it _hurt_ , even though he could already feel the unwelcome pressure of orgasm welling up again. He was still far too sensitive to enjoy it, but his body was responding as if he didn’t have a say in the matter. On top of that, he was blinking in and out—he saw flashes of Smoothie’s face and smiling lips, felt the faraway sensation of the killer’s controlling kisses, but he couldn’t piece it all together. Every sensation blended into the next. 

It was gentle, at least. Nick tried to hold on to that; after all, it could have been even worse if Smoothie had decided to ride him roughly again. The killer seemed to prefer it slow while he was in control, which gave Nick time to adjust and bite back the pain. He passed out once and felt Smoothie slap him awake again insistently. 

It felt like the worst and best acid trip of his life simultaneously. The effects grew worse the longer it went on. Before long Nick could feel his heart stuttering and his body starting to shiver and quake. He could see Smoothie staring at him through the hallucinogenic haze, watching with twisted fascination. The rhythm of the killer’s body was intoxicating, and Nick lost himself in it completely while reality warped around him. 

“Smmmmoothie,” he slurred, quickly losing track of where his body ended and the killer’s began, trying to grasp blindly at the only thing he could see. “Whhhhat _is_ this?”

“Mm. Might be how you die,” the killer murmured into his ear. His voice echoed across Nick’s consciousness, and in between the flashes of sound Nick felt Smoothie’s hands against his face again, touching him tenderly, melting into him. It was absolutely delicious.

“Wwwworth it,” Nick managed, blinking into unconsciousness again for a few seconds before Smoothie shook him back awake. 

“Oh? How _adorable_ ,” Smoothie noted.

The killer was proud of himself. Nick looked absolutely ruined underneath of him, but the hitman was well beyond the ability to feel pain by now. At this point he wouldn’t be able to feel anything except what Smoothie wanted him to, and Smoothie was more interested in making him feel ecstasy. It was clear that pain meant little to Nick Sax. Humiliation would mean something, though, as would the shame of being used like a glorified sex toy. Torture was a delicate art—too much too soon would ruin the fun of it, and Smoothie _loved_ having fun. 

Besides, he was getting off on more than just the torture, for once. That was unusual for him. He’d already admitted to himself that he had something of a schoolgirl crush on the hitman, but that was quickly turning into something more intense. After all, Nick felt _amazing_ inside, and Smoothie could feel the familiar, electric sensation of orgasm building. 

“Sax,” he said breathlessly, slapping Nick once across the face to make sure he was paying attention. “Do you still want to touch me?” 

“Shhhhfffvss,” Nick responded, nodding his head loosely, grasping at nothing. “Yyyeah?”

Smoothie hurriedly uncuffed one of the hitman’s hands, which landed heavily against his lower back. He felt Nick clutching at his shirt for dear life. 

“This,” Nick managed, fighting through the psychedelic haze. “Is _awesome_. This is—good shit.”

“It’s mostly PCP and sedatives, with a little something extra to keep you serviceable,” Smoothie informed him. He uncuffed Nick’s other hand and savored the sensation of the hitman’s fingers trailing lazily up his back. 

“Sssedatives,” Nick murmured. 

“Having fun yet?”

“ _So_ much fun.” 

“Mmm. Thought you might,” said Smoothie appreciatively. He leaned in and gave Nick one long, hungry kiss, loving the way the hitman tried to pull him in closer. Even though the drugs made him hazy and sluggish, Nick’s hands were still insistent. When Smoothie was finished kissing him, he tilted the hitman’s chin up and said, “I’ll undo everything but the ankle restraints, if you promise to be good.”

“The goodest,” Nick rumbled.

He was too out of it to be a threat—and if he tried anything, he was more likely to fall unconscious or go into full cardiac arrest than actually do any damage. Smoothie started to undo the ropes and straps around Nick’s hips. 

“Think I llllike you,” Nick slurred. “Smoothie.”

“That’s just the PCP.”

“Nah. You’re real pretty. Think I _love_ you.”

“That’s _definitely_ the PCP.”

“Mmmaybe,” Nick countered, his head drooping slightly to watch Smoothie undo the straps. He let both hands drift down to the killer’s ass cheeks and squeezed. “Feel like a million bucks, though. You do. You. Are. The prettiest.”

“You’re very adorable when you’re on drugs.”

“You’re—always.”

“Always adorable?”

“Mmm.”

“That’s sweet and inaccurate of you,” Smoothie sighed, smitten by the hitman’s inability to keep himself together. He finished freeing Nick’s torso from the straps, but left his legs bound to decrease the chances of an escape attempt. Escaping seemed to be the furthest thing from Nick’s mind, though—the instant he was free he tugged Smoothie into a messy, uncoordinated kiss and ground his hips up into the killer’s body. _That_ felt amazing, and Smoothie couldn’t contain the desperate sound that came out of him when Nick’s cock struck him right where he wanted it most. 

The sedatives slowed Nick down and made all of his motions feel lazy. Smoothie didn’t mind that. The hitman’s hips worked in time with his own, only losing the rhythm every now and again, and Nick’s hands pulled him down into each thrust with firm, gentle pressure. It was easy for Smoothie to work his way toward the peak, especially with Nick’s cooperation. He liked the way Nick’s hips moved, even when Nick was drugged. 

“Smmmoothie,” Nick interrupted, trying to slow down, grumbling when the killer ignored him and kept up the pace. “Smmmoothie, I like you. Gave you my phone number. Brought you—flowers.”

“You _did_ bring me flowers,” Smoothie panted. He was close, now. It was getting hard to speak; all he could focus on was the swelling sensation, the pressure building up inside him. 

“You didn’t like them,” Nick said through the haze. 

“I liked them. Kept them,” Smoothie assured him breathlessly. “Kept you, too.”

“Thhhat mean you like me?”

“Mff! _Yes_ , Sax,” the killer managed, his voice faltering while he drove himself down onto Nick’s cock like nothing else mattered. “Yes, _yes_.”

“You like _this_?” Nick asked.

Even sedated, he had good reflexes. Smoothie didn’t notice that one of the hitman’s hands had clamped around his throat until it was too late. His eyes flared wide in panic and he assumed that this was the end of it all, but Nick didn’t break his neck—the hitman only pulled him into another aggressive kiss, and _that_ was enough to finish him off. 

Smoothie’s hips bucked and twisted, and he let out a sputtering, choked sound into Nick’s mouth. The sensation came in waves, easing up only to overwhelm him again and again; it felt like it would never end. The intensity was mind-numbing. Being strangled a little bit only heightened it, and Nick didn’t let up. The hitman’s hips kept moving, targeting that one _perfect_ spot inside, and he kept kissing Smoothie long after the killer had lost the ability to reciprocate. Every thrust brought on another wave. Smoothie rode it until he couldn’t handle it anymore, until his eyes rolled back into his head and his body shuddered uncontrollably in Nick’s arms. 

He collapsed when it was finally over and slumped lifelessly against Nick’s powerful shoulders. Nick’s mind was still too blurry to make sense of whether or not Smoothie was dead; he certainly _looked_ dead, and anything that intense would have definitely given Nick a heart attack. The hitman tried to paw at the back of Smoothie’s skull, even though he was losing his grip on reality. He was fading fast.

“Smmmm. Smoothie,” he slurred. 

It took a few seconds, but Smoothie eventually pulled himself upright again. He was shaking. His thighs were shaking the most, but it was happening all over; he said nothing and immediately set about redoing the ropes and straps, his trembling hands fumbling with the knots and buckles. 

“Smoothie,” Nick repeated. “I’m—hallucinating.”

“Mm. Right,” the killer mumbled, his voice wavering. 

“Did you _die_?”

“A little bit,” Smoothie said softly. “Be quiet.”

He forced Nick’s hands back down into the restraints and cinched them tight. The hitman watched and grumbled unhappily, trying in vain to reach Smoothie’s body again even though the opportunity was gone. By now he was seeing double, and he couldn’t quite tell whether or not the sights and sensations before him were even real. The only thing that felt real was the warmth of Smoothie in his lap and the sweet sensation of his touches. 

When Smoothie was satisfied that Nick couldn’t escape, he sighed and settled against Nick’s chest. He cast his eyes appreciatively over the hitman with a soft little smile. 

“I _did_ like the flowers, Sax,” he said, giving Nick one more long, savoring kiss and then fetching another suspicious syringe from his cart. He examined it and then said, “But next time I’d like roses.”

“Okay,” Nick mumbled. 

“Now say goodnight.”

“Goodnnnnight?”

The last thing Nick saw before he blacked out was the needle going through his skin. 


	3. Chapter 3

Nick woke up in excruciating pain. He felt like he’d been hit by a bus—his muscles were unnaturally sore, and his heart was aching in his chest from being overworked. On top of that he had a horrendous migraine, and he could feel something stinging the tips of his fingers on his right hand. The smell of rubbing alcohol lingered in the air around him.

He finally cracked his eyes open and looked down toward his aching right hand. Smoothie was there, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his stupid little cart next to him, dabbing at Nick’s fingertips with a sanitized cotton ball. He didn’t notice that Nick was awake. He was too intently focused on cleaning away the bits of dried blood from underneath Nick’s nails and disinfecting the wounds. 

Nick watched him work for a minute or two. He had to fight through the migraine to try and remember everything Smoothie had done to him; it was all a psychotropic blur. Images flickered through his mind of the killer’s face, of Smoothie kissing him breathlessly and tearing the ropes away with hasty hands. If he focused hard enough then he could recall the sensations, too; the rollercoaster of pain and pleasure and the way his body reacted to every one of Smoothie’s touches. It all felt like a fast-fading dream. The only thing he remembered with any certainty was how much he’d loved every second of it. 

Finally he flexed his hand and said, “Oww,” to alert Smoothie of his presence, and the killer’s eyes flashed up to meet his. 

“Finally awake?” Smoothie observed, his voice soft and casual. “Lovely. Feeling frisky?”

“Think I’m gonna throw up.”

“You already did, twice,” the killer informed him, going back to disinfecting the wounds in Nick’s hands. It stung, which Nick disliked, but there was something he enjoyed about how careful and precise Smoothie’s motions were. It wasn’t tenderness, but it felt close enough. 

“What the fuck did you give me?” Nick mumbled. He couldn’t shake away the pain in his head. 

“An orgasm.”

“After that.”

“Mm. Something just as fun.”

“Smoothie,” Nick started, straining against the cuffs just enough to catch the killer’s fingers with his own. “C’mere.” 

“Not in any position to be making demands, are you?” 

“That was a polite request. A demand would be _get back in my lap, you sick little fuck_.” 

“Ahh, of course. Silly me,” Smoothie said sarcastically, digging an alcohol-soaked cotton ball into one of Nick’s open wounds roughly enough to make the hitman growl out a curse. The sound brought a nasty smile to Smoothie’s face. He pressed a few cruel kisses against Nick’s fingertips, then finished up the job of disinfecting them and fetched a roll of gauze from his cart. He bound up each of Nick’s fingertips individually with a practiced hand. 

Nick grumbled and watched. Outside of a few errant hospital visits for heart attacks and bullet wounds, Nick wasn’t used to someone else taking care of him. He usually shrugged off injuries or hoped that they would kill him over time; getting bandaged up was unusual. 

“Got any more of that shit you gave me?” he growled, his eyes tracking Smoothie’s body as the killer shifted to start working on the other hand. 

“Plenty more where that came from. But I doubt your heart could take more so soon,” Smoothie said, looking amused. “Besides, you’ve earned a little rest. You were _very_ accommodating. Best I’ve had in quite a while.”

“Mm, is that right?” Nick asked. He tried to catch Smoothie’s fingers again, but the killer didn’t allow it and gave him a slap on the wrist. 

“Quite right. Hold still.”

“You should uncuff me. I can be a lot more accommodating,” Nick offered with a raunchy grin. “C’mon, sicko. You’re gonna love every second. I know you’re a masochist.”

“Sadomasochist,” Smoothie corrected. 

“Right, right. I can tell,” Nick said, wincing when the cotton ball traced over his open wounds again. “I’m fine switching off every now and then, if that’s what you’re into. You’re a little bit sexy when you take control.”

“Be careful what you wish for.”

“I _wish_ for you to undo the fuckin’ cuffs. You had your fun.”

“My fun isn’t remotely over,” Smoothie told him as he wound the gauze around the first of Nick’s fingers. He flashed the hitman one wicked smile and said, “We’re just getting started.”

“Quit playing hard to get.”

“Is that what we’re playing?” 

“You want it just as bad as I do,” Nick insisted, letting a knowing smile creep into his face. “Don’t remember much about that last little tango except for the fact that you came like a fuckin’ freight train, pretty boy.”

Smoothie made a low, satisfied sound in agreement. 

“Didn’t expect that. Thought you’d be at a loss, not having a dick and all,” Nick admitted. “Still, nice to know that I’ll be able to pound another one of those out of you once I get out of these fuckin’ cuffs.”

“Is that your plan?”

“Rail you ‘til you can’t see straight? Absolutely, baby.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Planning to keep me locked up much longer?”

“No,” Smoothie said, finishing up with the bandages and then planting one soft kiss against Nick’s knuckles. His eyes were cold and dangerous when he looked up. “I’ll probably kill you on Christmas morning. As a little treat to myself.” 

“Really, now.”

“Mmhmm. Just a little something to liven up the holidays,” Smoothie sighed. He let himself imagine it, trailing his hands up Nick’s firm, powerful arms and then running his fingers through the coarse hair of the hitman’s chest. He couldn’t hold back another wistful sound when he thought about how _nice_ it would feel to peel back those muscles, to unwrap Nick like a Christmas present and dig through whatever he found inside. Then again, he knew he would regret it afterwards. The kill would feel fantastic, of course, but not nearly as fantastic as Nick’s hot breath against his neck or Nick’s rugged hands roving over his body. 

“Mm. You don’t want me dead,” Nick said, reading his mind. “Got too big of a crush on me.”

“That only makes it more intimate.”

“Nah. You’re a selfish piece of shit. A guy like you doesn’t break his own toys. Besides,” the hitman said knowingly. “You said you wanted roses _next_ time.”

“Hm. Caught that, did you?”

“Uncuff me and I’ll go get you some. Passed a guy selling ‘em on the street corner, but they were like, twenty bucks,” Nick snorted. “Overpriced. Not blowing twenty bucks on a hookup, but to be fair, I think we’ve gone pretty far past _hookup_. Might be willing to blow twenty bucks on you, if you let me out of here.”

“Flattering to know that I’m worth twenty dollars,” Smoothie said with a sneer. 

“Maybe even twenty-five, on a good day.”

“Charming.”

“Tell you what; you let me go, we both get back to our own business, then I’ll come back on Christmas with some mistletoe and handcuffs. We’ll have ourselves a nice time, get real into the holiday spirit.” 

“Hmm. You’re very tempting,” Smoothie admitted, picking at Nick’s chest hair and then tracing the ropes. He had no intention of giving in, but he couldn’t resist humoring the hitman a little bit. The way that Nick was talking now made him feel surprisingly nice; he _almost_ believed Nick’s interest and empty promises were genuine, but that would’ve been ridiculous. “Suppose I _were_ to let you go, Sax—what would you do to retaliate?”

“Easy. Fuck you over the arm of this goddamn chair,” Nick growled. “Or maybe your stupid little wheely cart. Maybe even in your actual bed, if we’re still in your apartment.”

“That _does_ sound nice.” 

“Bet it’ll feel even nicer. What do you say?”

“Hm. Call me clingy, but I couldn’t bear to let you go so soon,” Smoothie sighed. “We’re only just now getting to _know_ one another. Besides, it’s the middle of winter. You need someone to keep you warm.”

“Cuffing season, one could say,” Nick said wryly, amused by his own comedy. 

“Exactly.”

“Still think I’m gonna turn tail and run once you let me loose, don’t you?”

“That would be the smart thing to do.”

“I’ve never been particularly smart. You had a cozy-looking bed. Cozier than mine. Wouldn’t mind keeping you warm for a while—at least until the mafioso manhunt dies down. Besides,” said the hitman, sinking into the sensation of Smoothie’s hands moving gratefully over his chest again. “You’re clearly the kind of guy who knows how to have a good time. I like that.”

“Mmm.”

“Total psycho, obviously. But I ain’t one to judge,” Nick said, shrugging a little. He looked down at Smoothie’s hands while they traced the trail of hair down his torso, and then let out an approving little sound. Nick licked his lips in anticipation when the killer’s fingers moved lightly over his cock and then down between his thighs to caress the sensitive skin there. To his own surprise he realized that he was _excited_ thinking about what Smoothie might do to him next; he didn’t know if it would be pain or pleasure, but that didn’t matter. All he cared about was the fact that Smoothie was touching him again. 

“Never been with a guy,” Nick admitted when those fingers started to explore his scrotum and the sensitive skin behind it. He let his eyes drift shut and sank into the pleasure of it. “Not like this, I mean. Handjobs, blowjobs here and there, real under-the-table shit. _God_ , that feels good. Keep doing that.”

Smoothie made a keen, interested sound, stroking the loose skin behind Nick’s balls with expert precision until he saw Nick’s hips twinge with need. “Hm? Never?”

“Never met a guy I was into. ‘Til now, at least.”

“Hmm.”

“Pretty into you, though,” the hitman sighed. He tried to rest his head comfortably into the back of the chair, but that was impossible. It didn’t matter; he could barely feel anything except for the killer’s fingertips. 

“Must be Stockholm Syndrome.”

“Nah. It’s your death wish.”

“My what?”

“The idiotic crush you’ve got on me. Can’t be anything but a death wish gone wrong,” Nick snorted. “No logical reasoning behind it. You just liked how hard I hit you. You’ll let me out of here eventually, just because you want me to hit you again—see if I can finish the job this time.”

Smoothie considered the hitman’s words carefully with narrowed eyes, and then said, “Maybe we aren’t getting to know one another as well as I thought.”

“What, no death wish?”

“No death wish,” Smoothie confirmed. He shifted to his knees and let his eyes rove over Nick’s strong thighs. There was still a nasty puncture wound in Nick’s right leg, where Smoothie had gotten him with an ice pick back when they first met. He let one set of fingertips trail over it while his other hand continued exploring between Nick's legs. “But your reputation precedes you. I heard you were quite the competent killer. That’s true, based on what I’ve seen.”

“Word on the street is that you’re quite the competent killer yourself, pretty boy.” 

“It’s nice to meet someone with a similar skill set,” Smoothie said absently, resting his chin on one of Nick’s knees. He slid his inquisitive hand further back, squeezing it underneath Nick’s body until his middle finger found the hitman’s asshole. He saw Nick’s knuckles tense up, watched Nick grab the arms of the chair again suddenly. 

“Whoa, there,” Nick grumbled. “Buy me dinner first, douchebag. I’m not that kinda girl.”

“Hm. You will be,” Smoothie said as if it were an inevitability, his voice blunt and even. He liked the nervous energy in Nick’s hands. The hitman’s body clenched up anxiously as he tried to steel himself to ward off the fingertip rubbing up against him. “Relax, Sax.”

“Knock it the _fuck_ off,” Nick snarled. 

“Ooh. Looks like we’ve found a little _weak spot_ ,” Smoothie said with interest, his face lighting up in a nasty grin. “Bit of a _virgin_ back there, aren’t you?”

“I liked you better on my dick,” Nick spat aggressively. “I said _knock it off_.” 

“What was that? _More_ , you said?” 

“Smoothie—”

“Can’t quite hear you. I’m almost certain I heard you say _more_ ,” Smoothie lied. “Now, go ahead and relax. You’re in the _best_ of hands.”

He ignored the growl of protest that Nick let out when he forced the tip of his finger in. It was difficult; Nick was strong, and he was doing everything in his power to prevent it, but with a bit of diligence Smoothie managed to force his way into the hitman’s body. Nick was digging his fingers into the arms of the chair again, bleeding through the gauze Smoothie had so painstakingly applied to him. He struggled in vain against the cuffs.

“I’ll break your fucking neck,” he threatened. 

“Ohh, changing your tune so quickly,” Smoothie observed. He dug his finger in deeper, down to the first knuckle—it was easier now that he’d already worked his way inside. He let the tip of his finger explore until he found the hitman’s prostate and pressed up against it with firm, intense pressure. 

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ,” Nick barked, trying to break the cuffs, yanking his wrists against them again and again with no luck. 

“Shh. Enjoy it,” Smoothie said softly, viciously, massaging that sensitive spot with his finger while Nick gritted his teeth and swore. The killer closed his eyes and pressed his lips against the inside of Nick’s thigh. “Mm. You feel _nice_ , Sax.”

Nick hated the vulnerability of it, the violation of it, but as shameful as it was he couldn’t resist the sensation itself. No one had _ever_ touched him like this. He would never have allowed it. Nick hated the fact that Smoothie’s finger felt irresistible inside; he’d never experienced anything like it, and his nerve endings were lighting up like a circuit board gone haywire. He was embarrassingly sensitive to the new sensations, and he knew that Smoothie could tell. The killer was already chuckling with sick satisfaction. 

“Starting to relax,” he noted with a smug little smile. “That’s better. Intimate, isn’t it?”

“Fuck you,” Nick growled. 

“Don’t act so ungrateful. I can do it _harder_ , if you insist on being a brat about it,” Smoothie said, a dangerous edge creeping into his voice. He forced his finger deep inside in one sharp plunge and then crooked it cruelly, letting out a delighted, sadistic laugh when Nick’s resulting squawk of pain reached his ears. He only did it once, just to get his point across, before going back to the bundle of sensitive nerves he’d been toying with before. 

Nick’s breath shuddered out of him, and he ground his teeth together to fight back the stirring sensation in the pit of his gut. He didn’t want to get hard again, not like this, not with Smoothie inside him—he wanted to reject everything his body was doing. It was no use, though. Every deep, firm push of Smoothie’s finger lit something up inside of him. He couldn’t resist how _good_ it felt, even though the idea of enjoying it made him hate himself. 

“I _know_ you like it. I can tell by the way you’re breathing. The way you’re _clenching_ ,” Smoothie sighed. “Give in to it, Sax.”

“No,” Nick snarled. 

“Mm. Why not?” 

“Because fuck you, that’s why.”

“You’re nervous. You’re worried that I’m going to get a taste for it, aren’t you? Worried that I’m going to _fuck_ you.” 

Nick said nothing and tried to steel himself, even though he could feel the blood gathering between his legs, heating him and hardening him up. Smoothie’s free hand found his cock when it twitched to life and gave it a few gentle, encouraging touches. 

“Ohh, that _is_ what you’re worried about,” the killer hissed in amusement. “Afraid I’ll force myself on you. Pop your cherry. And out of wedlock, no less. How _barbaric_ of me.” 

“Try it and I’ll crack your fuckin’ skull.”

Smoothie ran one finger from the base of Nick’s shaft all the way up to the tip and let it linger there, teasing the sensitive underside. The desperate sound that Nick let out intrigued the killer to no end—Nick sounded like he was hanging on by a thread. 

Smoothie’s lips trailed up the inside of the hitman’s hairy thigh, making Nick shudder in the grip of the restraints. The killer’s breath against his cock was more than he could stand; for a few moments even the sensation of Smoothie’s finger inside him took a backseat to the idea of what those lips would feel like wrapped around him. He was watching now, desperate for it, begging for it silently in the back of his mind. 

“You know, I think I _will_ ,” Smoothie said softly, pressing into him harder with a little smirk, admiring the sight of Nick’s cock just a hair’s breadth away. He looked up into the hitman’s eyes and let his tongue give the tip one quick, teasing stroke, loving the way Nick’s expression went wild as a result. “I think I’ll _take_ you, Sax. _Deflower_ you.”

Nick wanted to curse at him, spit on him, anything to show how much he hated the very idea of it, but before he could even string a handful of words together, Smoothie’s lips closed over the head of his cock and made his mind go blank. 

It felt incredible; with Smoothie’s finger still massaging him from the inside, it felt out of this world. The killer’s lips were even softer than Nick had expected them to be, even more satisfying. Nick couldn’t help but let out a guttural groan. 

He’d been imagining this ever since that first night, and it was everything he wanted. Smoothie’s motions were practiced and intense. His mouth was so much _gentler_ than the rest of him, which Nick couldn’t get over—it was all warmth and softness, deliciously wet and slick, with none of the cruel twists Smoothie was so fond of. Nick loved how attentive the killer’s tongue was; it found each of his most sensitive spots and felt out every inch of him. Even when Smoothie’s lips slipped away from the head, his tongue’s attention to detail more than made up for it.

Nick had gotten a lot of blowjobs over the course of his life, but none of them had ever felt this _hungry_ , or this focused. Maybe it was just the addition of the prostate stimulation, or the fact that Nick was restrained. Maybe it was the lethal look in Smoothie’s eyes when they drifted up to catch Nick’s gaze. Something about the killer’s chilling stare made each stroke of his tongue even more effective. Nick could tell that Smoothie was enjoying himself; there was a smug, sleazy glimmer in his eye. 

Nick tried to say something in his own defense, but all he could manage was the word “ _Y_ _es_.”

He couldn’t take his eyes off of Smoothie. The sight of the killer’s lips sliding up and down his length was almost as stimulating as the sensation. Smoothie took it impressively—he let the head of Nick’s cock meet the back of his throat and let out another of those soft little moans around it, which was almost more than Nick could stand. 

“Smoothie, I’m—getting there,” Nick choked out. His voice was a husk of itself, shallow and full of need. Smoothie didn’t even look at him, didn’t bother changing anything he was doing. His motions stayed the same, as if he only cared about his own satisfaction rather than the idea of bringing Nick to completion. Nick didn’t mind that. Every second of it still felt spectacular, and there was something he liked about the fact that Smoothie was too interested in exploring his cock to care whether or not he even came. 

The luxurious attention paid off before long; Nick’s breath sped up alarmingly and his body seized up around Smoothie’s intruding finger right before the climax hit him. It felt _deeper_ than any of the others. The incredible, electric stimulation of Smoothie’s finger against his prostate made him see stars when he came, and the killer’s tongue coaxed absolutely everything out of him. The initial explosion was amazing enough, but the throbbing sensation of it lingered inside him as Smoothie’s fingertip finished the job with a few firm, deep motions. Nick couldn’t believe how much longer it lasted; he’d never felt anything like it before. 

The killer’s lips slipped off of him, and Nick felt Smoothie’s hand slide out from underneath him. Smoothie looked him right in the eye and swallowed hard. His expression was eerily cold and cruel at first, but then his face cracked into a sly little grin and he winked. 

“Holy _fucking_ shit,” Nick managed, still barely able to comprehend what had just happened. 

“Mm. Very nice, like _always_ ,” said Smoothie with a satisfied huff. He squeezed the wound in Nick’s leg playfully, drawing out an agonized swear. 

“Douchebag,” Nick spat through his gritted teeth. 

“Not a very nice way to thank me for my generosity.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Still being shy?” Smoothie inquired. “I find that very alluring. You’re like a blushing maiden, all of a sudden.”

“I’m not being _shy_ , you piece of shit—keep your hands to your goddamn self,” Nick demanded hatefully. He was exhausted, and he could still feel his asshole tingling with leftover sensation. He resented every second of it, even though it felt phenomenal. “Not interested in any of your fuckin’ backdoor business. Not my thing.”

“Not yet, maybe, but I can be very _persuasive_. You’ll learn to enjoy it, by the time I’m done with you,” Smoothie told him. He stood and patted Nick firmly on the cheek. “And as much as I would _love_ to expand your horizons _right now_ , I’m afraid you’ll have to wait. I have to get a few things prepped for work. Back at it again.”

“No more Christmas vacation?” Nick growled. 

“Sadly, no. Blue needs me. He’s beside himself.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Don’t worry. You won’t miss me too badly while I’m gone. You’ll be unconscious,” Smoothie told him. He fetched a syringe and a needle from his cart, both still in the plastic wrap, and a glass vial of something that Nick assumed was anesthetic. 

“Bring back a cheeseburger,” Nick grumbled while Smoothie assembled the syringe. “I’m starving. Wastin’ away over here.” 

“Hm. No cheeseburger. Bad for your heart.”

“A little clogged artery never killed nobody.”

“Maybe a salad,” Smoothie offered.

“Got it, _that’s_ the torture,” Nick said with a scowl. “Asshole molestation was just a warm-up, the real deal is forcing me to choke down a nasty fuckin’ _salad_.” 

Smoothie flashed him a smile and filled the syringe, gauging the dosage based on how long he expected to be gone. “Doctor’s orders.”

“Some fuckin’ doctor _you_ are.”

“I’m a very good one. That’s why I work for the mob,” Smoothie said, quickly finding a vein. He paused before he pierced it, taking a moment to cast his eyes over Nick’s face again. He was thinking, calculating something. Finally he sighed and said, “I think I’m starting to enjoy your company, Sax.”

Something about the fondness in his voice made Nick’s heartbeat speed up, which confused the hitman to no end. He was still livid; Smoothie had ignored his protests, _violated_ him, forced him into something he’d repeatedly refused, but he still _felt_ something when the killer’s voice took on that strange, soft quality. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was, exactly. All he knew was that it made him want to touch Smoothie again, to feel the warmth of him again. Nick let his eyes linger on the killer’s lips and thought about how incredible they’d felt around him only minutes ago. 

“Might be mutual,” he grumbled, unable to resist it. “When you’re not being a total douchebag.”

“Hm,” Smoothie said thoughtfully. “Maybe I won’t kill you after all. You’re strangely charming.” 

“You’ve got bad taste in men.”

“Do I?”

“Absolutely,” Nick told him. He wasn’t even lying; his lack of self-esteem crept into his voice and lingered there. “The charm wears off quick. Just ask my ex-wife.”

“Mmm. I’ll keep that in mind. Now say goodnight, Sax.”

“—Smoothie.”

“Hm?”

Nick licked his lips. He still couldn’t tear his eyes away from the killer’s mouth. His voice was little more than a murmur, quiet and shameful. “Gimme a kiss first.”

A smile crept over Smoothie’s face. He stroked the vein in Nick’s arm with one attentive finger and pierced it, but he obliged the hitman before hitting the plunger to anesthetize him. 

His lips were soft and Nick couldn’t get enough of them. The hitman even opened his mouth tentatively to let in Smoothie’s skillful tongue. It was _weird_ being able to taste something of himself there, but he didn’t mind it—he liked the gentle noise of satisfaction that Smoothie let out after they’d both settled into it. The killer’s mouth was firm and controlling, and for once Nick didn’t feel compelled to assert himself against it. 

Smoothie put an end to it with the plunger of the syringe, kissing the hitman until his body went still and his jaw fell slack and unconscious. He let his eyes and fingertips move over Nick’s body, feeling out his favorite spots—they felt familiar now, all of the curves and angles, all of the patches of coarse brown hair. He’d been mapping all of them out, memorizing them. 

He didn’t want to admit it, but he _liked_ Nick Sax. Smoothie could hardly wait to play with him in earnest, to _really_ get under Nick’s skin. That would have to wait while he attended to his business, but those few hours would give him time to daydream; he could plan something special for the hitman. 

“Bad taste in men,” Smoothie said to himself, scanning Nick one more time with a hungry, excitable eye. “Looks like we have that in common, you and I.” 

***

The room was different. Nick could tell before he even opened his eyes—it smelled different, and the air was colder, and even though he could still feel the cuffs at his hands and ankles, he could _move_. He grumbled and pushed himself up to his hands and knees, which was as far as he could manage. The cuffs were bolted straight into the floor. 

Nick shook his head and heard a sharp, metallic jingle. 

“Motherfucker,” he mumbled, twisting his neck one way and then the other. There was a heavy leather collar locked around his throat, with an obnoxious jingle bell on the front. Every little motion of his body aggravated it and brought out the same stupid, Christmasy noise. 

He was alone in the room. There was a video camera in one corner, he noted, fixed right on him. The room was bare, with a cold and uncomfortable concrete floor, and the lights were dim. There was nothing except for Nick, the camera, and a stainless steel bowl of water, just out of reach. 

“Fucking douchebag,” Nick said under his breath, straining for it. He could almost reach it with his teeth when he snapped them, but not quite. The bell around his neck jingled mockingly. 

“Absolute fuckin’ piece of shit,” Nick grumbled. He looked at the camera and scowled. “You watchin’, asshole? Gettin’ off on this?” 

There was no response. Maybe Smoothie _wasn’t_ watching; after all, the killer wasn’t exactly the silent type. He could never resist a quip. 

Nick spent at least thirty minutes trying to break the cuffs and then another hour trying to get comfortable on the chilly concrete floor, even though that was wishful thinking. By the second hour he was starting to miss Smoothie more than he’d expected to; he was bored, and uncomfortable, and lonely, and the room was terribly cold. Nick wasn’t a fan of the new torture technique. He would’ve preferred another blowjob instead. Hell, at this point he wouldn’t have even refused another round of prostate massage—at least that would alleviate the boredom.

It took three hours, but eventually Nick heard a door opening behind him, just out of his line of sight. He craned his neck, trying to see over his shoulder, and caught a glimpse of Smoothie hurrying into the room and then quickly tending to the locks on the door. 

“I’m _so_ sorry,” the killer said anxiously, sounding unusually stressed out. “Work ran _so_ late, I couldn’t get out of it. Big deadline coming up, you know how it is.”

“Oh, sure, totally understandable,” Nick guffawed. “I’ve just been twiddlin’ my thumbs and combing my fuckin’ hair, waiting for you. _When will my husband return from the war_ and all that shit.”

“So sweet,” Smoothie said hastily. Nick heard the sound of plastic bags rustling, keys jangling. Smoothie went on to say, “I brought you something to make up for it.”

“Oh, did you? Guess I won’t make you sleep on the fuckin’ couch after all,” said Nick with a sarcastic snort. “Better have brought me a cheeseburger.”

“Brought you something nicer.”

Smoothie made his way over and pushed the steel water bowl in Nick’s direction with one crisp black shoe. He sat down on the floor in front of Nick with a pile of plastic shopping bags and a black duffel, rooting through the shopping bags first. He looked more tired than Nick had expected. The expression on his face looked genuinely apologetic for half a second when he met Nick’s eyes, and then he gestured gently to the steel bowl of water.

Nick refused to drink from the bowl in front of him, even though his mouth was dry and the thirst was miserable. He didn’t want to give Smoothie the satisfaction. He watched the killer pull a few items out of the shopping bags and set them up. 

It was cute. Pathetic, but cute—Smoothie had brought a little placemat and a nice earthenware plate, even silverware and cut crystal glasses. Nick watched with increasing confusion and concern while the killer opened a fresh pack of taper candles and set one up in a little holder to one side. 

“Wow. Okay,” he muttered. “You, uh—right, okay, you’re doing a whole thing.” 

“I didn’t have a good day at work,” Smoothie said by way of explanation, lighting the taper candle and then digging through the plastic bags again. 

“I can tell,” Nick grumbled. He watched the killer pull a takeout box out of one of the bags. He sniffed. “Smells nice, whatever it is.”

It _was_ nice; much nicer than what Nick was used to. Smoothie had brought him a fancy steak, a prime cut with a side of vegetables and potatoes. He arranged them artfully on the plate, picking carefully at each piece with the fork until everything met his specifications. Once he was satisfied, he produced a bottle of red wine and poured two glasses. 

“Have some water first,” he suggested, nodding toward the bowl while he cut the steak into pieces. 

“Not drinking out of the goddamn dog bowl.”

“Aren’t you thirsty?”

“Fuck you.”

“Probably hungry, too,” Smoothie sighed. “Been over twenty-four hours. You should eat something. It’ll perk you right up. All of this is for you, once you’re nice and hydrated.”

“Eat my ass, douchebag.”

“Oh, _maybe_. But finish your water first.”

“No.”

“Sax,” said Smoothie with a frown. “Don’t be difficult with me, please. It was a long day. I was hoping we could have a nice, relaxing time together. Something to help me unwind.”

“Sorry to ruin your evening, pretty boy, but I’m not doing it.”

Smoothie let out a deep, harrowed sigh and clicked his tongue. He looked exhausted, Nick noticed—Smoothie usually looked spry and ready for anything, but something had taken the wind out of his sails. He made another dissatisfied noise and set down the knife and fork. 

“Alright,” he said, sounding disappointed. “Torture it is, then.”

“Figures.”

Smoothie opened the black duffel bag and took out an electric drill, then selected a long, nasty-looking bit for it and twisted it in. He turned the contraption on, testing it in the air, giving the trigger a few experimental taps. The sharp, whirring sound struck Nick’s ears. He strained backward against the cuffs, suddenly anxious. 

“That’s—okay, looks like you’re going hard today,” he grumbled. 

“Mm.”

“Let’s take it a step back.”

“No need,” said Smoothie, seizing Nick’s face with one insistent hand and then whirring the drill again. “Open your mouth.”

“Smoothie.”

“Open. If we aren’t going to have dinner then you don’t need all those teeth,” the killer said coldly. He shook Nick once by the jaw, and when Nick gritted his teeth together, one of Smoothie’s thumbs forced its way underneath Nick’s lip and pushed it out of the way. He couldn’t quite decide where to start, so he let the drill bit move threateningly over the hitman’s exposed gums, counting each row of pearly whites. 

“Do it, I fuckin’ dare you,” Nick snarled between his teeth. He felt the drill bit settle in between his canines and tried to steel himself for the inevitable pain. “Make my day, asshole.”

“I was _hoping_ you would make mine,” Smoothie said snidely, letting his finger ghost over the power button and savoring the flash of anxiety that went through Nick’s eyes. “But you’re too _stubborn_. Prideful. You’re nothing but an ungrateful, uncooperative—”

“—Asshole,” Nick finished with a scowl. 

“Exactly.”

“Pull that trigger and we’re done, douchebag.”

“We’re done when I _say_ we’re done,” Smoothie corrected, in a voice like nothing Nick had ever heard before. Everything soft about him had melted away in an instant. He dug the sharp tip of the drill bit in between Nick’s teeth with a sadistic sneer, forcing Nick’s head back as far as it would go. “Clearly you need to be reminded of that. I’ve been _soft_ on you. Treated you _kindly_.”

“ _This_ is your version of kindly?” Nick growled. 

“All you’ve done is insult me. _Lie_ to my face.”

“Never fuckin’ lied to you. Not even one time. You’re crazy.”

“Crazy?” Smoothie demanded with a bright and unhinged laugh, tightening his finger on the trigger of the drill with an air of finality and a nasty gleam in his eye. “We’ll see about _that_.”

“—Smoothie, I _never_ lied, not once, hand to God,” Nick insisted, growling the words out so quickly that they all blurred together. 

Something about the desperation in his voice or the panic in his face must have given Smoothie pause. The killer’s finger lingered on the trigger of the drill without pulling it. Nick saw him narrow his eyes skeptically. 

“Look, you’re a fuckin’ asshole, you’re crazy, you’re a sadistic goddamn sociopath, that much is obvious,” Nick snapped, taking the chance and trying to grasp the window of opportunity. “But I haven’t said a goddamn word to you that wasn’t true, and you can take that to the bank—go ahead and knock my teeth out if that’ll get your rocks off, but don’t pretend it’s because of anything _I_ did. You’re just pissed that I don’t wanna play your little torture games. Fine, whatever. Sue me for not wanting to drink out of a dog bowl. Never _lied_ , though.”

Smoothie listened to him with a cold, calculated stare scrawled across his face. He traced the trigger of the electric drill thoughtfully with his index finger, then eased up a little; he let the bit trail dangerously over Nick’s bottom lip. “Hm.”

“Meant what I said,” Nick told him, starting to relax now that the metal wasn’t pressing into his teeth. “Every part of it. That I’m not usually into guys. That I think you’re pretty, that I’d bring you some roses if you let me go. That I wouldn’t mind cozying up with you for a while. Even the fact that I think you’re a psychotic asshole.”

“All true?”

“All true. C’mon, pretty boy. You’re an interrogator. You’d know if I was lying.” 

Nick had a good point there—Smoothie couldn’t deny it. All of the hitman’s words had certainly _seemed_ genuine, even if they were just desperate attempts to get Smoothie to release him from the cuffs. Nick’s shameful enjoyment of his treatment had _definitely_ been genuine, because he’d taken such great pains to fight it and deny it. He certainly hadn’t been cooperative across the board, the way that someone might have done if their goal was to trick Smoothie or win his trust. 

“Fine,” the killer said coolly, still put out about the whole argument. “Last chance to choose. The drill or the dog bowl. I know which one I would pick.”

“Fine, douchebag. Get your _tool_ out of my face.”

“Mm. Seems you already know what else is in store for you tonight,” Smoothie commented, releasing Nick’s jaw and setting the drill aside. He shoved the steel bowl insistently towards Nick again. “Now put on a show for me.”

Nick scowled. He hated it, but it was better than losing teeth, and he had a feeling that Smoothie wouldn’t have stopped at the teeth once he got started. With a grumble of protest he lowered his lips to the bowl and tried to figure out a way to drink while maintaining some sense of dignity.

Smoothie caught that and said, “No. Use your tongue. Lap it up.”

“Come _on_.”

“Don’t make me tell you again.”

“You’re obnoxious,” Nick told him. That only made Smoothie flash him a cruel little smile. The killer watched with twisted satisfaction, and Nick did his best to make sure Smoothie understood the hateful look on his face for what it was. He was fantasizing about beating the killer to a pulp and then pounding him into submission, and it was a _nice_ fantasy—almost nice enough to make up for the humiliation of lapping water out of a bowl. 

He needed the water. The second it touched his tongue he realized how desperate he’d been for it, how much his body needed it. He could feel Smoothie’s stare burning into the back of his skull. Soon he could feel the killer’s fingers weaving fondly through his hair. 

“There,” Smoothie said, his whisper cutting through the silence of the room. “That’s good. Perfection, Sax.”

Nick raised his head with a scowl, dripping from the mouth. “Fuck you.”

“I like it best when you cooperate,” said Smoothie. He sounded surprised by that. “I usually prefer a struggle. A little bit of _tough love_ , let’s say. But you look nice when you give in, Sax, especially without a fight.”

“Without a fight? Uncuff me and I’ll show you a fight, pretty boy. Firsthand.” 

“Mm. I know, I know. I can hardly wait,” the killer sighed. His fingers found Nick’s cheek, all soft, affectionate touches. “I’ve been too lenient with you. Spoiled you with all of my affection, with the soft spot I have for you. I suppose it’s only natural. Meeting someone with so many admirable qualities, hitting it off so fast…all that chemistry can really get the better of someone, especially someone like me. I don’t usually find myself so smitten.”

“That makes two of us,” Nick growled hatefully. 

“I think we’re really on the same wavelength. Really taking to one another. Wouldn’t you say?”

“Could be. Hard to tell, locked up like this.”

“We’ll see, won’t we?”

Smoothie set the stainless steel bowl aside and picked up the silverware again. He stabbed a piece of the steak with the fork and held it up, just out of reach, then tilted Nick’s chin up toward him with a gentle touch of the knife. 

“What’s that phrase?” he asked, watching Nick’s eyes follow the scrap of food, watching his mouth water. “If you can’t handle me at my worst…”

“—Then you don’t deserve my dick down your throat. Right, right. A classic,” Nick snapped. 

“Mff. I’ll have _that_ , I guarantee it,” said Smoothie with a little smile. He let Nick have a bite of the steak, watched him chew, and then set the fork aside to hold the glass of wine up to Nick’s lips. He tipped it gently, but Nick gulped the wine down as if he were trying to drown himself with it. Smoothie let him finish the glass and then set it aside. 

“God, I needed a real fuckin’ drink,” Nick sighed gratefully. “That’s not bad, what is that? Cabernet?”

“It’s port. Figured you would like something a little bit more robust.”

“Smart boy.”

“Mm.” 

Smoothie liked seeing a bit of appreciation in Nick’s eyes. It made things more _romantic_ , he thought, more intimate. For a few moments he even thought about how _nice_ it felt coming home to a face like that, after a long and irritating day at work. It was a soothing fantasy, and he let himself slip into it while he offered the hitman a few more forkfuls of food. 

Nick would look nice on the sofa, he thought, sprawled out with a drink in his hand and that stupid, crooked smile on his face. He would be nice to cuddle up with. That would be just as satisfying as carving the hitman up or digging into him with the drill, maybe even _more_ satisfying. Smoothie couldn’t think of anything more restful than the idea of Nick’s hands roving over him after a long day—Nick pushing him down into the sofa cushions and kissing him roughly, Nick pulling him in at the waist, fighting with his clothes. He could almost feel the hitman’s rugged hands tightening around his neck, easing away all of his stress. 

Smoothie let out a wistful little sigh, then cut up the other half of the steak. 

“My ma always told me I’d be livin’ the high life if I ever dated a doctor,” Nick snorted. “She never mentioned the handcuffs, but she was right about the food, looks like.”

“Hm.”

“You’re quiet today, pretty boy,” said the hitman, narrowing his eyes. He rapped his fingers against the concrete floor. “Must’ve been a real bad day. Disemboweling didn’t go as planned?”

“Uggh. No disemboweling at _all_ ,” Smoothie complained. 

“You’re kiddin’ me. What a waste of your talents.”

“That’s exactly what I said.”

“What happened?”

“I wouldn’t want to bore you with the details.”

“Consider me your captive audience, handsome.”

Nick snorted with laughter at his own joke, but Smoothie only offered up a little smirk. He poured Nick another glass of wine and let the hitman drink, then went back to feeding him scraps of steak.

“Well. Since you’ve asked,” Smoothie murmured, tracing Nick’s mouth with his eyes. He let the fork linger against Nick’s bottom lip for a moment. “Bit of a day. Someone threatened to blow my head off, had to give an old woman a makeover, _almost_ had a little bit of fun before Blue called me in to do a rushed scrub-down. Nasty place. Holding facility, covered in dirt and grime.” 

“Gross.”

“Very. But it was more tolerable knowing that I had something to look forward to.”

“Let me outta here and I’ll _really_ give you something to look forward to,” Nick mumbled through a mouthful of steak. 

“Oh, I’m _sure_ you would, stud. After a day like today, it’s more tempting than you could imagine.”

“I’ve got a pretty good imagination.”

“Imagining anything now, Sax?”

“Yeah,” Nick admitted, snapping another bite of food from the fork. He was imagining breaking out, forcing Smoothie into the cuffs in his place, and feeding him something _very_ different, namely his dick. It would be the most vindicating experience of his life. He was looking forward to seeing whether or not he’d be able to force another orgasm out of the killer, once the tables were turned. 

He was still picturing it in his mind’s eye—vividly, in fact—when he felt Smoothie’s fingers brush over his lips. 

“Seems like we might be imagining the same thing,” Smoothie murmured. 

“I doubt that.”

“Imagining killing me, aren’t you?”

“Mm. Only a little bit,” Nick laughed, leaning into the touch as much as the cuffs would allow. “Just enough to show you how _grateful_ I am for your generous _hospitality_.”

“Tell me what you would do.”

“Uncuff me, I’ll show you instead. Wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

Smoothie held his gaze for a moment with a curious expression on his face, then set the silverware down decisively.

“Good idea,” he declared. He slid the plate and placemat out of the way, blew out the taper candle, and pulled a ring of keys from his pocket. 

Nick watched, confused, while the killer undid one of the wrist cuffs.

“Wait, you’re actually—”

“Don’t get too excited,” Smoothie warned him. “Four different locks, four different keys. I don’t have all of them on me. I’m not a complete idiot.”

“Gonna let my hands free, though?”

“I like your hands,” said the killer softly. He finished undoing the first of the cuffs and slid Nick’s wrist free. “I know what you’re thinking already, Sax, but there’s no use killing me. You can, of course—I’m sure it’ll be _quite_ erotic for us both. But then you’ll be stuck here. You’ll never get out, not with the way I’ve reinforced your restraints. You’ll starve in here, all alone.”

“Might still be worth it.”

“Might be. Will it feel as good as it feels to hold me, though?” Smoothie asked, amused, leaning in to brush up against the hitman’s lips. “As good as it feels to _fuck_ me?”

Nick’s free hand seized the front of the killer’s shirt, and he yanked Smoothie’s body closer. He thought about roughing Smoothie up, giving him a few new bruises to get started, but the idea paled in comparison to what he really wanted. 

“ _Nothing_ feels as good as fucking you, sick bastard,” he growled, forcing the killer into a long, harsh kiss and taking control of it. Smoothie made one of those soft little noises, the ones that Nick couldn’t resist—it brought an animal groan out of the hitman. He was so busy crushing Smoothie against him that he didn’t even let the killer undo the other cuff. The rush of power felt incredible; Nick couldn’t help but pull Smoothie in closer with a series of rough, insistent motions, trying to force the killer underneath of him. 

“Sax,” Smoothie laughed against his lips, clearly loving the reaction. “Let me get your other hand.”

“Only need one to get your goddamn clothes off.”

“ _Ooh_. I’d still like both,” Smoothie said with a smile. Nick let out an irritated noise and let go of the front of Smoothie’s shirt just long enough to let the killer fetch the ring of keys again. Nick’s lips and teeth tugged ferociously at Smoothie’s neck while he undid the lock and slipped the cuff off. Once both of the hitman’s hands were free he forced the little man under him and wrenched him closer to catch him in another overbearing kiss. 

Smoothie couldn’t feel anything except for the strength of Nick’s body; it was _exactly_ what he wanted, exactly what he needed to displace the tension that had built up over the course of the day. He wasn’t capable of feeling stress, not while he was underneath Nick Sax. The hitman handled him roughly enough to push everything else out of his mind. The relief was absolutely incomparable.

Nick’s hands were harsher than usual. He was too distracted by touching Smoothie to even tear the killer’s clothes away. All he could think about was feeling out every inch of Smoothie’s body now that he had it right where he wanted it. He forced the killer’s shoulders down to the concrete floor and kissed him until he couldn’t hold back anymore, until he couldn’t stand it. 

He yanked Smoothie against him with a firm grip on his thighs, forcing them up around his waist. 

“Must be looking to get wrecked, is that right? Letting me get on top of you like this?” he rasped into the killer’s mouth. “Just like I did to you at the hospital, that’s what you want?”

“Mff. _Yes_ ,” Smoothie managed. “Anything you want. You can hurt me. You can _choke_ me.”

“ _Kill_ you?” Nick growled, clamping one hand around Smoothie’s throat and tightening it dangerously. The ecstatic sound that Smoothie rewarded him with was priceless.

“If you’re willing to risk it.”

“Got no fuckin’ sense of self-preservation, do you?”

“Mm. None at all.”

“You’re completely fuckin’ insane,” Nick told him. He let his free hand tug loose Smoothie’s tie. “It’s hot, can’t deny it. Doesn’t make me wanna kill you, makes me wanna teach you a goddamn lesson.”

Smoothie let out a terrible, overzealous sound at the thought of it. Nick adored the gleam in his eyes and the soft, breathless voice that came out of him when he said, “ _Please_ do.”

“Aw, baby. So excited, aren’t ya? Been thinkin’ about this all day?”

“Yes,” the killer said, shivering when Nick’s fingertips dug into one of the lingering bruises on his face. He looked even prettier like that, Nick thought; shivering, wincing with pain. It was nice to be in control again, even if it was only temporary. He planned to make good use of the opportunity. 

“You’re gonna let me out of here,” Nick said definitively. “Tonight. Wanna know why?”

“ _Mm_.”

“Because we’re about to have ourselves a _nice_ time, Smoothie,” the hitman growled, burying his lips in the crook of Smoothie’s neck and forcing the killer’s head to one side. “Maybe the best you’ve ever had. Gonna make you forget all about that bad day at work. That’s all you want, isn’t it? Little bit of rest and relaxation?”

“Yes,” Smoothie sighed, rolling his eyes in relief and pulling Nick closer. “Exactly, Sax.”

“First one’s free, just because I’ve been itchin’ for it,” Nick said into his ear. “The rest we’ll have to negotiate.”

“But I brought you food. Didn’t even drill a hole in your mouth,” Smoothie complained.

“I know, so sweet of you.”

“Surely that merits something.”

“Nah, pretty boy, that’s just why I haven’t killed you yet,” Nick told him with a nasty grin. “That and your blowjob skills.”

Smoothie’s laugh caught in his throat when Nick’s grip around it tightened. The hitman forced one of Smoothie’s hands into the cuffs—he didn’t bother locking it, just clamped it shut around Smoothie’s wrist. He knew the killer wasn’t strong enough to get out of it. Smoothie squirmed deliciously underneath him, but the noise that came out of him was _anything_ but concerned; he was loving every second of it. When Nick cuffed his other hand, the killer looked like he was in heaven. He only strained against the cuffs to feel them holding him in place, as steely and inescapable as the weight of Nick’s body. 

The concrete floor was rough, but the scrape of Nick’s bearded jaw against him was even rougher, and Smoothie loved that. It was invigorating. It made his heartbeat speed up just as much as the crush of the hitman’s hand around his throat. There was _nothing_ more relaxing than that. 

“Not going to let you out without getting something in return, Sax,” he breathed, settling into the comfort of the hitman’s coarse skin against his own. “Been too lenient on you already, like I said.”

“Aww. Think I’m about to be _lenient_ on you, pretty boy? I wouldn’t count on it.”

“You won’t. But only because you know I like it that way,” Smoothie sighed. “Wouldn’t dare to upset me. Wouldn’t dare to kill me. Not afraid to die, but you don’t want to waste away down here. You want a blaze of glory, don’t you?”

“I’m not really the attention-whore type, that seems more like your thing.” 

“And yet we’re so _similar_ , Sax.” 

“You want attention?” Nick growled. “I’ll give you attention.”

It was easy to yank loose the buttons of Smoothie’s pressed white shirt, easy to rip through the fabric. Smoothie let out an irritated sound, but it only lasted until Nick balled up the killer’s tie and forced it into his mouth. He could hear laughter coming through the black silk. He could even see the smile flickering across Smoothie’s face, and he gave the killer one nasty backhanded strike, hoping to get rid of it. All it did was draw a sick, muffled moan out from between Smoothie’s teeth. 

Nick liked that. He’d forgotten how exciting it was to smack the killer right across his annoying, handsome little face. 

“That one was free,” he said, right before striking Smoothie again even harder. “ _That_ one was for tying me up. And this next one, Smoothie? This next one is for shoving a finger up my ass.”

He hit the killer with his knuckles this time, not with the flat of his hand—hard enough to split Smoothie’s lip and draw blood. It _had_ to have been agonizing. With all of the tender bruises on Smoothie’s face and all of the loose teeth in his mouth, it had to have been unbearable. Still, Smoothie only let out a dreamy sigh. Nick scowled in response, wondering how the fuck the killer was able to stand it. 

“You look nicer in handcuffs than you do with your stupid fuckin’ cart full of torture tools,” Nick told him, grabbing him by the injured jaw and digging one thumb roughly into the wound on his lip. He heard Smoothie let out a delighted, agonized little sound. “Ohh, there we go. This is _exactly_ what you wanted, isn’t that right?”

The killer nodded silently, his breath heaving while he looked up at Nick with excitable eyes. 

“Such a freak. So fuckin’ twisted. Bet you like it better now that I’m all locked up—even better than the last time. Right, douchebag?”

Smoothie nodded again and offered up a nasty, eager sound. He let his eyes close and went limp, savoring the sensation of Nick’s hands moving down his body. Nick mumbled appreciatively under his breath while he pushed Smoothie’s shirt out of the way. He could see yellowish bruises over the rib he’d cracked the other night, and that made him feel a strange sense of accomplishment. His lips moved hungrily over the killer’s body. It was nice; he’d never seen it before, not really. He’d only ever felt it underneath his fists, or hidden underneath Smoothie’s clothes while he touched the killer. Nick even forgot about hurting him, just for a minute while his fingers trailed down Smoothie’s chest. 

“You’re gorgeous, pretty boy,” he said, struggling to hide the note of softness that crept into his voice. He could feel the killer shivering beneath his touch. “Surprised you’re single.”

Smoothie muttered something incomprehensible, and Nick tugged the tie out of his mouth to let him repeat it: “Mff. Are you really _that_ surprised?” 

“Fair point, you got weird hobbies.”

“Mmm.”

“Might be able to find a guy who doesn’t mind ‘em, though. If you looked in the right places.”

“The mob, maybe?”

“Something like that. Careful, though. Could find a guy with a few weird hobbies of his own.”

“I _hope_ I do,” Smoothie sighed. He arched into Nick’s touch, loving the way that the hitman responded by sinking his nails in. Nick dragged them down the front of his body, all the way to his hips, then pulled him close. 

Smoothie liked how hungrily the hitman kissed him. Nick’s teeth sank into his wounded lip until he let out a pained whine. He could feel the hitman smiling sadistically; Nick let out a vicious little laugh and then yanked Smoothie’s shirt hard enough to make the cuffs dig into his wrists. 

Nick _liked_ touching him. That much was undeniable. He liked feeling Smoothie’s body shifting underneath him, tensing in his hands. When his teeth met the bruises along Smoothie’s ribcage and dug into the skin, he could feel the killer’s thighs tighten insistently around him. Nick heard his own name escape Smoothie’s lips, and _that_ was even nicer than touching him—it made him grind his hips into the killer’s body, every motion filled with undisguised need. Smoothie got his attention with another desperate, uncoordinated kiss. 

“Do your worst,” the killer hissed against his lips.

Nick didn’t need to be told twice. His hands made quick work of Smoothie’s belt and pants, and he broke the kiss for a minute to untie the killer’s shoes and toss them aside. He didn’t toss the pants, since the keys were still in the pockets—he didn’t want to take any chances, even though the cuffs weren’t locked. 

“Got lube in that duffel bag?” he growled. 

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Smoothie.”

“Just _fuck_ me.”

“Trying to. Wanna be able to fuck you again in an hour, though. Instead of watching you bleed out on the floor, tempting though it may be.”

Smoothie looked annoyed, but he liked hearing the phrase _fuck you again in an hour_. He made a vague gesture toward the black duffel bag and tightened his thighs around Nick again, trying to hold the hitman in place and prevent him from reaching it. 

“You could still fuck me again in an hour,” he said softly, desperately. “With or without it. I want it to hurt, Sax. You’re good at that.”

Nick smiled down at him. “You’re right about that part, pretty little thing.”

He forced the killer down with one hand and reached over him, grabbing the duffel bag. It was heavy; he heard metal clinking when he set it down. When he dug through it he found a few lengths of chain and a set of nasty torture implements, as well as a handful of more interesting things. 

“What’s _this_ , then?” he demanded, pulling a leather harness out of the bag, followed by a sizeable dildo. “Planning something a little bit different, weren’t you? Before your bad day?”

“Haven’t changed any of my plans.”

“Really, now.”

“Really. Do your worst.”

“Something tricky going on,” Nick said. He dragged the tip of the sex toy up Smoothie’s body until he reached the killer’s chin. “Letting me out of the cuffs. Giving me something to eat. Putting me in charge. What’s the catch?”

“You know the catch.”

“Oh?”

“Tonight’s the night,” said Smoothie, with his eyes sparkling sadistically. “No need to be nervous. I’ll be very gentle with you the first time, Sax, I promise. I’ll treat you well. Warm you up like a perfect gentleman. You’ll enjoy yourself.”

“You gotta be joking. Look who’s on top, genius.”

“Mm. You first,” Smoothie said. “Then me.”

“I don’t think so.”

“It’ll be nice,” said the killer softly, trailing his eyes over Nick’s body. “You’re so responsive. And you enjoyed it so much, the little _teaser_ I gave you last time.”

“Pretty sure I fuckin’ didn’t.”

“You did.”

“Even if I _did_ ,” Nick snarled. “Still not happening.”

“Mmm. I’m going to let you out, first. Let you have a meal and a shower. A martini, maybe. Then I’m going to fuck you in my own _bed_ , Sax,” said Smoothie dreamily. “And you’ll _love_ every second of it.”

“Hilarious.”

“Don’t you want out of the ankle restraints?”

“Obviously,” Nick snapped. “Still not letting you anywhere near my asshole.”

“Hm. That’s the price of freedom, I’m afraid. Besides,” said Smoothie. “If you refuse, I’ll get to it eventually. Tie you up so you can’t squirm, have my way with you however I like. Won’t be nearly as nice as what I’m offering you tonight, but you’ll probably still enjoy it, won’t you?”

“Got half a mind to break your neck right now.”

“Only half a mind,” said Smoothie with a smile, his eyes flickering downward. “I can tell where the other half is. You’re stiffening up, Sax.”

“Shut up, douchebag.”

“It’s comfortable, you know. My bed. So much nicer than sleeping on the concrete. You could wake up on feather pillows, to a fresh breakfast and a _very_ diligent blowjob.” 

Nick let out an irritated grumble. After over twenty-four hours in the restraints, half of what Smoothie was describing sounded too good to be real. Nick would’ve killed ten men for a good night’s sleep in a real bed. Hell, he would’ve killed ten men for a martini. 

The smug, cruel smile on Smoothie’s face told him that the killer’s mind was already made up—it was going to happen one way or another, if he let Smoothie go. Nick knew enough about Smoothie’s reputation to understand that he could be a _lot_ more cruel than he’d been so far; maybe it _would_ be better to give him what he wanted, just so that Nick could spare himself a bit of trauma. Besides, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He liked it when Smoothie kissed him, after all. He’d even liked Smoothie’s finger inside of him, even if it was a bit emasculating to admit it. He could feel his body responding to the memory already. 

Nick licked his lips and thought about it, his resolve wavering as he stared into Smoothie’s dark, delighted eyes. 

“Nothing to stop me from killing you the second you unlock the cuffs,” he growled. 

“True. But you don’t want to. Not anymore.”

“Sure about that, douchebag?”

“Willing to stake my life on it,” said Smoothie with a wry smile. “You _like_ me too much.” 

“You annoy the shit out of me,” Nick objected. He closed both of his hands definitively around Smoothie’s throat and felt the killer lean into it, pulling Nick in closer with the grip of his thighs. It felt _good_ , Nick couldn’t deny it; it felt even better now that he was getting hard, and he couldn’t help but chase the friction of Smoothie’s body against his own. 

“ _There_ we go,” he heard Smoothie hiss eagerly, closing his eyes to enjoy it. “ _Mm_. You can complain about it if you want to. You can resent it. You can even scream and curse, if that’s what you want, or hit me until I bleed, or break another one of my ribs. Doesn’t matter. Work out whatever aggression you need to, and _then_ you’ll behave for me. If you want out, that is.”

“Fuck you. I could drop you with one punch and get out of this hellhole.”

“You could. But you won’t. Blue will find you eventually, and then where will you be, hmm? Right back on my work table. All mine.”

“Worked out great for you last time.”

He saw Smoothie’s gaze go cold and strict, and the killer sneered when his thighs tightened around Nick’s waist aggressively. Smoothie didn’t care about the threat of Nick’s hands around his throat—he lifted his head and got in the hitman’s face, fighting against Nick’s grip when Nick tried to push him back down. The killer growled through his teeth, “Refuse me and I’ll stop being _gentle_ with you. Leave without my permission and I’ll hunt you down.”

“Big threats from a little guy like you.”

“You have _no idea_ what I’m capable of.”

“I know exactly what you’re capable of, you sick fuck,” Nick snarled, forcing him back down to the floor. “Heard Blue brag about it. But you’re so goddamn sweet on me that you haven’t even shown me your teeth yet, have you?” 

“That can change in a heartbeat, Sax.”

“If I hurt your pretty little feelings?” 

“If you disobey my pretty little _orders_.”

“You talk big for a guy in handcuffs.”

“And you _love_ it, don’t you?”

Nick scowled and studied the nasty smile on the killer’s face, then spat out the word, “Yes.”

He kissed Smoothie as violently as he could, doing his best to put the killer in his place, but Smoothie only welcomed it. Nick could feel him laughing deliciously, even through the kiss. It should have infuriated him. It should have made him snap Smoothie’s neck right then and there, or at least choke him into submission, but instead it only thrilled him more. 

He was so frustrated with himself that he let out a curse and then reeled one fist back to hit Smoothie again, hoping to wipe the grin off his face. He stopped when he saw how eagerly Smoothie bit his lip. The killer’s eyes tracked his fist with an excitable glimmer, and he tensed up in anticipation to take the hit. 

“Hitting you doesn’t do shit,” Nick muttered. “Just makes you want it more, doesn’t it, pretty boy?”

“Mm. Exactly.”

“Gettin’ you all excited, that’s all it’s doing. Gettin’ you all riled up,” said Nick. He lowered his fist and then planted both hands against the concrete on either side of Smoothie’s face, leaning into him, looming over him. He could hear Smoothie’s breath catch in his throat when he moved in to brush his lips against the killer’s own. “A martini, you said?”

“I’ll make you one myself.”

“I prefer bourbon.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” Smoothie said softly, trying to catch Nick’s lips. Nick stopped him with one firm hand. 

“What kind of vodka?” 

“Grey Goose.”

“Mff,” Nick grumbled, tempted. “Top shelf kinda guy.”

“Were you expecting anything less?” 

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, douchebag. I’m gonna dig through that bag, find whatever stupid fancy lube you brought along. Rail you senseless. Then you’re gonna let me out of these goddamn cuffs,” Nick growled. “I’m gonna take an _uninterrupted_ shower while you make me a martini, and then I’m gonna rail you senseless _again_. You’re gonna make me another martini, if you’re even fuckin’ able to by that point, and if you get that far, I’ll piss in your goddamn mouth before I snap your neck. I hear you’re real into that shit. Sound peachy?”

“You seem to have missed a few key elements.”

“Pretty sure I didn’t.”

“Don’t be stubborn, Sax. You know how these things work. We’re both businessmen.”

“Takes a lot more than a martini to acquire the _services_ of a hitman,” Nick told him.

“I’m tired of you playing coy,” Smoothie said with a disagreeable little scowl. “My generous offer expires once my good mood dissipates, and you’re getting dangerously close to spoiling the mood. If you want your freedom, you know the price. And you know what’ll happen if you double-cross me. Now, last chance: do we do this the easy way, or the hard way?”

The edge in his voice told Nick that his patience had worn thin. Time had run out. 

Nick thought about what it would be like, being strapped to the same chair as before without the promise of soft touches and Smoothie’s lips; he could already imagine how much worse it would be. Smoothie had grown tired of keeping him locked up and treating him gently. That much was obvious. Nick would have to kill him if he wanted to get on with his life—there was no way that Smoothie would let him go without a fight, not after this. 

Nick didn’t _want_ to kill him, though. It would be a shame to get rid of someone with Smoothie’s unique skill set, and that was even before he factored in the blowjobs or the pretty face. It might be smart to stay on the good side of Blue’s top enforcer; maybe that would come in handy, especially with the mob still on Nick’s tail.

Besides, as sick and shameful as it felt to admit it, Nick was curious about more than just Smoothie’s ability to make a martini. The killer had been relatively gentle with him so far. There was no reason to believe that Smoothie would hurt him, so long as he cooperated. Hell, it might even be _nice_ , like Smoothie had said—everything else the killer did to him felt nice, and Nick couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed the focused attention. It had been a long time since anyone touched him as excitedly as Smoothie did. 

He let out a low, irritated sound and then cast his eyes over Smoothie one more time. Finally he looked into the killer’s eyes, searching for any hint of insincerity, and grumbled, “No more cuffs?”

“No more cuffs.”

“You gonna be a total douchebag about it?”

“Hm. No. Perfect gentleman, like I said,” the killer murmured, scanning Nick with a critical eye, sizing up his crumbling resolve. “You prefer that, don’t you? Being treated with a little bit of skill and softness? I doubt you get much of that in your day-to-day life. No wonder you’ve gotten so attached to me so quickly.”

Smoothie smiled, and raised his head again to brush up against the hitman’s lips. “Tell me; have I gotten under your skin, Sax?”

Nick didn’t want to admit it, even if he knew it was true. Instead he pulled Smoothie close and kissed him again, every motion hungry and harsh, as if that would be enough to gain back some semblance of agency. It was useless, though. He gave in once he felt Smoothie take control, and then he felt the killer smile approvingly against his lips. 

“Seems like I have,” Smoothie said softly.

“Fuck you,” Nick grumbled. 

“Sounds like a _yes_.” 

Nick released the handcuffs and forced Smoothie’s body away from his own, shoving him down to the concrete again before flipping him over. He yanked the killer’s head up with a firm grip on the back of his shirt, ignoring Smoothie’s infectious laughter. It only took Nick a few moments to dig through the black duffel bag and find the bottle of lube Smoothie had packed for his evening plans. 

“You like it when it hurts, you said?” Nick demanded, shaking the bottle so that Smoothie could hear it before slicking himself up. “I’ll make sure it fuckin’ hurts. Ain’t no goddamn _perfect gentleman_.”

The sound Smoothie made when Nick forced himself in was everything the hitman wanted. It was almost enough to make all the time spent in handcuffs worthwhile. He could hardly stand how sweet it felt to be in charge again, how vindicating it was; he let one of his arms wind underneath Smoothie’s body to pull him up into every thrust. 

“Wish you didn’t feel so _fuckin’_ incredible,” Nick growled into the killer’s ear, yanking him closer by the collar with his other hand. Smoothie’s breathy, delighted laughter echoed through the room, punctuated by the sound of Nick’s skin slapping against his own. It was impossible to drown out, even though Nick tried to ignore it; all he could do was lean into it. He let his teeth sink into the back of the killer’s neck and savored the moan that it brought out from between Smoothie’s lips. 

“ _Perfect_ , Sax,” he heard Smoothie gasp, every bit as eager as he’d been in the hospital. The killer clearly wanted everything Nick had to give. He was forcing his hips back to meet each of Nick’s thrusts, and if the pain bothered him at all then he gave no indication. Nick forced the killer’s face down into the concrete floor to drive into him harder, noting that the gesture only made Smoothie’s laughter even more ecstatic. 

Nick gritted his teeth and tried to focus on the brute force of each thrust, hoping to drive out at least _one_ sound that wasn’t one of ecstasy, but it was no use—even Smoothie’s gasps of pain were grateful, each one speaking of how much he loved Nick’s harsh treatment. 

The killer wanted Nick to exhaust himself, to work out all of his aggression while he had the chance. It felt spectacular to be on the receiving end of the hitman’s brutality, especially after such a long day, and Smoothie wanted Nick nice and docile when he finally had him alone in his bed. He loved being pounded into the concrete, but he was _much_ more excited about what would come after; he’d been looking forward to forcing Nick to submit, and Nick wasn’t in any position to refuse. Knowing that he’d be having his way with the rugged hitman before the night was over made each of Nick’s cruel thrusts even more exciting, even more fulfilling. It added a level of _intimacy_ to the whole affair, at least on Smoothie’s end. 

Nick felt similarly, though he would never have admitted it out loud. Some small part of him still hated the idea of letting Smoothie do anything to him, but the promise of freedom and of being on the receiving end of the killer’s skilled attention had him curious, maybe even a little bit excited. Smoothie’s hands had only ever felt good. His mouth had only ever felt better. Nick could only imagine what else was in store, but he _knew_ he would like it; Smoothie was a professional, and everything that he did, he did _well_. He even took Nick’s cock with a level of practiced skill. Nick wasn’t used to that yet; he was still trying to get acclimated to the rhythm of contraction and relaxation, the overwhelming tightness and control that the killer’s body offered up to him. It was difficult to hold out while he was inside of Smoothie. He always felt like he was approaching the climax too quickly, driven into the pleasure by his own impulsive pace and the way Smoothie’s body encouraged him with every thrust. 

“Don’t know how you do that,” he hissed through his teeth, unable to hold back a little groan when he felt the killer’s hips roll back to meet him again. “How you _feel_ like that. Better than half the back-alley hookers in this city.”

“ _Mff!_ Been with all of them, have you?” Smoothie laughed. He let out a desperate noise when Nick yanked him once by the collar. 

“Been with enough. Never anyone quite like you, though,” Nick admitted, his breath huffing between thrusts. “Never anyone this— _tight_.”

He heard a nasty growl escape between Smoothie’s teeth, and the killer’s body tensed up around him, contracting cruelly while he drove himself back onto Nick’s cock. It was almost too much to stand; Nick’s body shivered and faltered.

“Right,” he choked out. “Just like _that_.” 

“You like that, do you?”

“Jesus _Christ_ , yes,” Nick breathed. It felt like every inch of the killer’s body was beckoning him deeper, drawing him into that terribly tight grip. He wanted more of it, couldn’t resist it; he could already feel himself giving in to the fast-approaching climax. The slick, smooth friction was irresistible. Nick was already clutching desperately at the collar of Smoothie’s shirt as if that would help him last longer. He crushed the little man close to his chest and held him tight, his lips pressing into the back of Smoothie’s neck while each of his thrusts grew more uncoordinated and greedy. 

Smoothie loved feeling the hitman come undone, and he let his fingers dig into Nick’s arm when it pulled him close. Nick’s breath against the back of his neck was erratic and shallow—he was almost there. A little push would send him over the edge. 

“Do you want me to say your name again, Sax? _Moan_ it for you?” the killer taunted playfully, loving the affirmative sound that Nick let out against him. “Fake an orgasm, maybe? I’m sure you’re used to _that_.” 

“Shut up.”

“ _Sax_. That’s what you like hearing, isn’t it? What a narcissist.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Nick demanded. He drove himself in even harder, chasing it, and managed through his gritted teeth, “Just say _Nick_.”

Smoothie frowned quizzically, and when the name finally came out of him, the tone of his voice was a little bit more vulnerable and experimental than he’d intended it to be; “…Nick?” 

“— _Fuck_ ,” the hitman gasped.

It was immediate, and it was over so fast that Smoothie would’ve doubted the authenticity of the other man’s orgasm if he hadn’t felt it. Nick only clutched him close for a couple of seconds, hips shaking from the intensity of the release, before collapsing in a rude heap on top of him. Smoothie could feel the warmth of it inside, the delicious heat that he liked so much. It felt so satisfying that he _almost_ didn’t mind the annoyance of Nick’s weight crushing the breath out of him. 

After a few long moments he could feel the hitman’s lips against the back of his neck again, kissing him once or twice before Nick’s voice mumbled into his ear, “Let me out.”

“You know what you're asking, Sax.”

“Nick,” the hitman corrected forcefully, pushing himself up to roll Smoothie over with one strong, undeniable hand. “I _know_ , douchebag. Now let me out.”

“Will you hold up your end of the bargain?”

“You’ll just have to fuckin’ find out, won’t you?”

“Mm. Say it,” Smoothie suggested sadistically, looking up at Nick as if he were proposing a dare. “Better yet, ask me _nicely_ for it.”

“No.”

“Fine. Stay in the cuffs.”

“Fuck you.”

“Close. So close,” Smoothie encouraged, his grin widening. “Just change that one little word. _Me_. Fuck _me_. Say it, now.”

“No,” Nick snapped. “That wasn’t part of the deal. Now uncuff me.”

“So stubborn. It was generous of me not to carve that out of you, wasn’t it? Don’t you want to stay on my good side?”

“I’m already on your good side. Gave you what you wanted,” Nick said, grabbing the killer’s face, wiping a bit of blood from Smoothie’s lips. “Wait an hour and I’ll give it to you all over again. Unlock the goddamn cuffs.”

Smoothie smiled, sitting up, watching with eager eyes while Nick tugged uselessly at the ankle restraints. 

“Keys are on the ring,” he said. 

“You had ‘em on you the whole fuckin’ time?”

“Of course. Why would I keep them all separate? You’re gullible,” said Smoothie, reaching for his pants only to watch Nick grab them instead. The hitman dug through the pockets and then threw them viciously at Smoothie’s face once he found the ring of keys. 

Nick scrambled to undo the locks. Once they were released, he tossed the keys aside and fought with the cuffs until he was free—and freedom felt _amazing_. He stood up and stretched to shake the stiffness from his muscles. Being able to move again was worth any price, and after such a long time locked up, stretching felt sweeter than any drink Nick had ever gulped down. 

“Stupid of you to let me out,” he said, cracking his knuckles and casting his eyes back down toward Smoothie, who was halfway through getting dressed again. “I could tear your goddamn head off your shoulders. Wouldn’t even bat an eye.”

He reached down and grabbed the killer, then dragged him to the wall and slammed him into it. The cruel gesture only made Smoothie laugh. 

“You won’t,” the killer said smugly. “Too excited, aren’t you? You’ve got that look in your eye. Itching to touch me, to fuck me again. Already? Really? It’s barely been five minutes. Don’t look so desperate.”

“I’m not desperate,” Nick lied through his teeth. 

“Mmm. Sure. Go ahead and relax,” the killer said, letting his hands creep over Nick’s chest and then up to the chiseled jaw he liked so much. His fingers scratched rhythmically and affectionately at the hitman’s beard. “You’ve earned it, _Nick_.”

Nick let out a little grumble of approval. He liked the way Smoothie said his name—it sounded sharp and seductive on his tongue, as if Smoothie were savoring it, _tasting_ it. His mouth was still open and frozen in a mean little smile, one that Nick couldn’t resist. The hitman leaned in and let his lips ghost over that sadistic grin. 

“You’re an intolerable fuckin’ bastard,” he growled under his breath. “Pretty little thing.”

“Ohh, I know. I know,” Smoothie said, giving Nick a kiss that was softer than any of the others that had come before, just to add insult to injury. “So well matched, for a worthless _brute_ like you.”

Nick _tried_ not to kiss him, but it was pointless; he was already doing it before he’d even gathered up the willpower to resist. It was too easy, with Smoothie crushed between the wall and his body. The satisfied sound that the killer let out between Nick’s harsh, uncaring lips only fired him up and drove him even deeper into it, and before Nick knew what he was doing, he was growling into the other man’s mouth the words, “I want that _goddamn_ martini. And everything else.”

“Mm. Everything else?”

“ _Everything_ ,” Nick snapped, kissing him again hard enough to make it hurt. He felt Smoothie smiling in spite of the pain, or maybe because of it; there was no way to be sure. When he finally broke away, the killer nodded his head toward the door and gave Nick an easy little push. 

“Bedroom’s that way,” he said, sounding pleased. “Clean yourself up, I’ll make you a drink. Won’t even poison it.”

“Sweet of you,” Nick grumbled. “You cut up all my clothes.”

“Who cares?”

“Need new ones.”

“Not while you’re with me.”

“Smoothie.”

The killer rolled his eyes. “Fine. Butchered a man of similar stature a few weeks ago. Might still have something of his laying around.”

“Leave it on the bed.”

“So demanding,” said Smoothie. Nick ignored him and went for the door, even though he could feel the killer’s eyes on him every step of the way. He opened it, poking his head out into Smoothie’s apartment and looking around. He could see the bedroom to his right; back when he’d assumed this was a hookup, he’d also assumed that the door he was leaning out of now led to some kind of linen closet, not a torture chamber. Smoothie was full of surprises. Nick glanced back before leaving the room.

“Smoothie?”

“Mm?”

“Make a minimum of two martinis,” Nick muttered. “God knows I’ll fuckin’ need both.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what if the real torture all along was treating Nick Sax with all the care and softness he deserves

Nick’s mind started racing in the shower. He rubbed his wrists and watched grime slough off of his body, remnants of cum and sweat. Smoothie’s blood still stained his knuckles red, and he scrubbed until it was all gone, watching it swirl down the drain. He wondered whether Smoothie was poisoning his martini right now, or drugging it with some new psychedelic sedative to keep him docile. It would hardly come as a surprise. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d agreed to. At first he thought he was afraid, which wasn’t common for him, but the more he thought about it the more he realized that he was _nervous_ instead—not the kind of nervousness that came from panic or discomfort, but the kind that came from his own lack of self-esteem. He was worrying about all the _wrong_ things; whether he’d be able to maintain an erection, whether or not Smoothie could even get off from penetration or whether he’d have to help out, whether or not he would smell alright after the shower. The more reasonable worries, such as whether or not Smoothie would murder him immediately after sex like a praying mantis, barely even crossed his mind. He was too busy trying to think through the act itself, not what fresh horrors might come after. 

The _idea_ of it made his heart rate spike in a way that he hadn’t expected. Nick had never pictured himself on the receiving end of sex until now, and he was surprised and a little bit ashamed to find that he was actually starting to look forward to it. He liked the way Smoothie touched him. He wanted more of it; the promise of the killer’s skilled hands moving over his skin was enough to convince him to do almost anything. Smoothie was an absolute psychopath, of that there was no doubt, but Nick didn’t consider that a dealbreaker. After all, Nick was hardly sane himself by most standards. 

After he’d washed the blood from his fingers, he braced himself against the wall of the shower and grumbled under his breath before reaching back to prod tentatively at his asshole—he’d only done this a handful of times before, and he’d always felt weirdly guilty afterwards, so he hadn’t made a habit of it. In the past he’d always chickened out after pushing just the tip in, and this time was no exception. He figured he’d be better off letting someone with more experience handle it. Smoothie would be _good_ at that—he had no doubt about it. The killer’s finger inside of him had felt alarmingly good, and his own wasn’t nearly as satisfying. It would be good to place his faith in more competent hands. Besides, Smoothie had promised to go easy on him. 

He turned off the shower and toweled himself off, then poked his head into the bedroom. Smoothie wasn’t there, but he’d left a pair of sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt neatly folded on the bed. Nick could hear music playing from the main room; bougie 80’s synth pop. 

“Gay,” he mumbled affectionately under his breath, tugging on the sweatpants. They were a little bit tight, but the shirt fit fine.

He wandered into the hallway, following the music which beckoned him back toward the main room, and barked out a warning on his way; “Smoothie? Better have a fuckin’ martini in my hand within thirty seconds.”

When he turned the corner into the kitchen he let out a startled curse—Smoothie was already there, inches away, with a martini in each hand and a sharp, hungry look in his eyes. He pushed one glass into Nick’s waiting fingers and then clinked it against his own. 

“Two seconds,” he said. “I’m speedy.”

“Right,” Nick grumbled uneasily, sidestepping him to search for the source of the music. He sipped the martini and let out a little grumble of approval. It was _good_. He took another generous sip before trying to make conversation. “Is that vinyl? You’re a record guy?”

“Better audio quality,” Smoothie explained. 

“Right, but you play trash.”

“Depeche Mode isn’t _trash_.” 

“Trash,” Nick repeated firmly. “Torturing someone to this? I get it. Sets the mood. Playing it for your own enjoyment? Seems masochistic at best.”

“Mm. Well. I suppose we can’t all have _taste_ ,” Smoothie said, wrinkling his nose and sipping his martini emphatically. He did a mechanical scan of Nick’s body and then said, “You look cozy.”

“Cozier than I’ve been for the past day and a half,” Nick growled. “Pants are a bit tight.”

“I noticed.”

“Bet you did.”

“Looks good on you,” said Smoothie with a little shrug. He took another long sip of the martini and then set it aside, preemptively mixing another for Nick. 

The hitman wandered over to the vinyl record player on the far side of the living room and watched the black disc spin. The martini in his hand only lasted as long as it took Smoothie to mix up a new one. Nick would’ve had eight or nine of them if he could, just to quiet his nerves—this had all been _easier_ when he was tied to a chair, weirdly enough. Now he just felt awkward and out of place, casting his eyes over an apartment he didn’t belong in and a record player he probably couldn’t afford, drinking alcohol ten times nicer than anything he’d had in years. A flash of self-loathing went through his mind when he abandoned the record player and planted himself on the clean white sofa. 

Smoothie watched him silently from afar as if he were stalking prey, pouring the fresh martini into a new glass without looking at it. He fetched his own glass and brought both of them to the sofa, easing himself onto the cushions next to Nick. 

“You’re anxious,” he said. He handed the martini to Nick and then shifted back comfortably, slipping his arm over the back of the sofa behind the hitman’s broad shoulders and kicking his feet up onto the ottoman. Nick grumbled in protest, then downed the drink in one go without savoring a drop of it. 

“Not anxious,” the hitman lied under his breath. “Just wondering if you poisoned my drink.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I want you at your best, after all,” Smoothie said fondly. He settled in closer and let his fingertips brush across Nick’s shoulder. “Mm. The shower did you good.”

“Right.”

“Not very talkative, all of a sudden,” Smoothie noted. “Would you rather get it all over with? Is that what you want?”

Nick averted his eyes and chewed on his lip, trying not to fidget too much with the empty martini glass. His heartbeat was starting to match the pounding tempo of the synth pop music, and Smoothie’s fingers brushing lightly against his shoulder felt good enough to make him wonder if the electric drill fiasco had been a fever dream. The sofa was surprisingly comfortable. Nick had expected it to be more firm and unyielding, but he was already sinking into it and gravitating toward the warmth of Smoothie’s arm behind him. 

He cleared his throat and ignored Smoothie’s question. Instead he said, “Nice place you got. Good uh, good rug.”

“Oh, you’re _very_ anxious,” Smoothie observed. 

“Don’t usually find myself in fancy apartments.”

“We can go back to the workroom if that’s more comfortable, or the holding cell.”

“Jesus, no,” Nick snapped. “Why do you even—? No, you know what? Don’t answer that question. I don’t wanna know.”

Smoothie smiled surreptitiously, then took another sip of his drink. He leaned his head back into the sofa with a contented sigh. Nick couldn’t help but look at him; he’d cleaned the blood from his face, and his lazy little smile looked as tempting as the softness of his neck. Nick caught himself thinking about leaning in to kiss it and quickly banished the idea from his mind.

“Take a while to relax,” said Smoothie easily, shooting him a smirk. “I’m not in a rush. I don’t mind watching you worry yourself to death, of course—it’s adorable. But we have all night, Sax, and you’re so very _tense_. That won’t make things easier for you.”

“Nick,” Nick grumbled.

“Hm?”

“You can just say Nick instead of Sax,” the hitman repeated with a hint of shame in his voice. “Like it better when you say Nick.”

“Oh. That’s fine,” Smoothie said dismissively. He made a vague gesture with his martini glass. “Nick, then. Put your glass down before you break it, _Nick_.” 

Nick hadn’t even noticed how hard he was gripping the stem of the glass until Smoothie called him out on it. He fumbled with it for a few moments and then tried to set it awkwardly on the ottoman. Once it was out of his hands, he felt Smoothie’s arm wind around his shoulders to get his attention. He turned his head back to find the killer closer than he’d been before, just inches away, with a tantalizing look of interest on his face. Smoothie made a satisfied little sound and let his gaze linger on the hitman’s lips. 

“You don’t hear that very often, do you? _Nick_ ,” the killer said, leaning in even closer. “Not on a first-name basis with most people?” 

“Not exactly,” Nick said, trying not to think about how easy it would be to kiss him. It would be effortless. It would _feel_ effortless. He could already picture himself wrestling the killer down to the shag carpet and letting his lips explore every inch of the other man’s skin, every hidden corner and crevice of his mouth. 

“More personal than you’re used to? First names?” Smoothie asked, breaking Nick out of the pleasant fantasy. 

“I don’t get very _personal_ with people, unless you count filling them with lead. Don’t exactly do that on a first-name basis, though.”

“Hm. I’m used to getting a bit more personal.”

“Right, what with the piss kink and all.”

Smoothie’s easy smile twitched into a narrow-eyed scowl. “I meant with my _work_.”

“Right, that and the piss kink.”

The killer made an irritated sound, then finished his martini with a final sip and set the glass on a nearby end table. It only took his hand a second to start tracing Nick’s arm.

“I’ll give you a pass on the _piss kink_ ,” he said snidely, pulling Nick closer. “For tonight.”

Nick closed his eyes before Smoothie kissed him, as if that would help him block it out, even though he was desperate for it. The killer’s mouth tasted even sweeter after the martini. He’d expected more ferocity, but instead Smoothie was painfully slow and forceful—Nick barely even noticed the killer’s hands easing him down into the comfort of the sofa cushions. He was too busy letting Smoothie’s mouth control his own. It was an insistent and domineering kiss, underscored with Smoothie’s trademark cruelty, but the motions were surprisingly lenient. Nick didn’t even feel the killer’s teeth against his lips. All he felt was Smoothie’s tongue, meeting his own to guide him into something silent and slow. 

It felt good. It felt _better_ than good—it felt spectacular, and Nick couldn’t remember ever having been kissed quite like _this_. He didn’t even consider fighting back. He didn’t want to. It was all too easy to let Smoothie have him, to sink into the sweetness of the killer’s breath and the leisurely touch of his hands. 

Nick hardly noticed when his head hit the cushions. He let himself seek out the front of Smoothie’s dress shirt and then pulled greedily at the buttons, only to feel Smoothie push his hands away to encourage him to take it slow. Smoothie straddled him comfortably, and the weight was a welcome distraction; he pushed Nick’s head back into the cushions to trail patient, burning kisses down the column of his throat, each one softer and sweeter than the last. Nick wasn’t used to being kissed or touched with such interest. Most of the hookers he’d been with in the last ten years were cheap and hasty, eager to finish the job and more inclined toward rough and raunchy touches. Smoothie’s attention made him feel strangely _special_. Maybe it was just the fact that Smoothie seemed to genuinely enjoy his company, or at least his body, or maybe it had to do with the fact that the killer had freed him from the cuffs. Nick didn’t want to admit it, but _maybe_ it even boiled down to the fact that part of him was looking forward to submitting to what Smoothie wanted most—looking forward to letting the killer penetrate him. 

Smoothie seemed to read his mind; his lips trailed up Nick’s throat to his ear again to murmur into it, “Nothing to be nervous about. You’ve been very cooperative. I like that, I’ll reward you for it.”

Nick let out a small, skeptical sound and said, “Not gonna pull any torture shit on me at the last minute?”

“Not tonight. Something to work up to, maybe, but I can tell that you respond more to pleasure than to pain. That’s unusual. I find it very hypnotic,” Smoothie told him with a soft little smile. His fingers trailed down Nick’s body, feeling out the curves and angles of his chest, teasing the sensitive spots and lingering there while Nick pulled him closer. He let his lips settle against Nick’s ear with a quiet sigh. “I prefer to be gentle, you know. Outside of work. Not exclusively, not all the time—but it’s something I have a particular fondness for. I can inflict pain on anyone. Inflicting pleasure is more intimate. I save that for people who interest me.”

Nick normally hated hearing Smoothie prattle on about torture, but he _loved_ this—the killer’s words were exciting him just as much as the sensation of Smoothie’s lips pressing up against the shell of his ear. 

“Didn’t take you for the gentle type,” he admitted, trying in vain to keep the underlying thrill out of his voice. It was useless. He was wrapped around Smoothie’s finger already, and the killer could tell. 

“Mm. I’ve been good to you so far. Haven’t I?”

“Interesting that your version of _good_ is drugging a guy and locking him up in your torture chamber. Not exactly the spitting image of treating someone right.”

“I was planning on keeping you,” Smoothie said gently against his skin, sending a delightful shiver through him. “Like a pet. You looked so nice on all fours, but I find that I like you better when you’re free range. It’s a crime to keep someone so _invigorating_ all locked up.”

“It’s a crime to keep people locked up, actually, just in general,” Nick corrected. “Pretty sure that’s a felony.”

“Hardly my first felony.”

“I’ll bet. Felonies are probably your only hobby.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“Mff. You got me there,” Nick growled. He let his hands slide over Smoothie’s thighs appreciatively and felt the killer push him down into the cushions to maintain control. Nick was more than happy to lean into it, especially when Smoothie’s lips sought out the angle of his jaw and trailed soft, tantalizing kisses along the edge of it. He sighed into the sensation and grumbled, “I should probably kill you soon and blow this joint. You’re starting to grow on me.” 

That made Smoothie smile. Nick could feel it against his skin, even though he couldn’t see it. 

“Good to know I’ve gotten inside your head,” the killer said fondly. “Might be time to get inside the _rest_ of you, if you feel so inclined.” 

“Didn’t realize I had a choice.”

“Mm. Not really. But I’m flexible on the timing of it,” Smoothie said with another nasty little grin. “Waiting is half the fun. Feels like foreplay. _Thinking_ about everything I’m going to do to you.” 

Nick felt the killer’s fingers tighten against him, felt Smoothie lick his lips before kissing his jaw again with newfound greediness. His own heart rate was spiking again, thrumming in his chest, but more importantly, the heat of Smoothie’s body against him and the sensation of the killer’s lips on his skin were sending sparks across his nervous system. Nick felt an undeniable response between his legs. 

“Tell me, Nick, do you enjoy the anticipation as much as I do?” Smoothie asked. He pressed his hands into Nick’s steely shoulders to pin him down, loving the fact that Nick didn’t fight back, and then leaned in to tease the hitman’s lips with his own. “Are you thinking about it, too? Thinking about how _nice_ it feels to be underneath me?”

Nick grumbled a sound halfway between agreement and denial, then tried to catch Smoothie’s lips in a kiss, only to feel the killer push him playfully away. 

“We’ll talk it through. No surprises,” Smoothie said in a sultry voice, matching it with a wicked little smile. He shifted to settle himself between Nick’s legs, taking a firm but gentle grip underneath each of the other man’s knees and spreading them to ease himself against the hitman’s body again. Nick drew in a quick, uneasy breath while Smoothie’s hands slid up the outsides of his thighs. They moved over his hips and stomach, coming to rest on either side of him, pinning him comfortably and securely into the cushions underneath the killer’s lithe body.

“Do you want it like this?” Smoothie asked, terribly softly. He eased his hips against Nick’s own and listened to the hitch of the hitman’s breath. “Mm. I think I’d like it like this. Get to look into those eyes of yours. Watch you say my name. Watch you cum, while I’m in you.”

Nick couldn’t hold back the throaty sound of excitement that he made—Smoothie’s body felt incredible against his own, and his fingertips grazed Nick’s sides encouragingly, in a way that the hitman found impossible to resist. Nick let his hands trail up to the killer’s shoulders to pull him in closer and Smoothie obliged, pressing eagerly against him. 

“ _Mm_. We’ll take it nice and slow. Won’t hurt a bit. I’ll take _such_ good care of you, Nick,” Smoothie said in that same sweet, soft voice, the one that Nick barely recognized. “That’s how you’d like it, isn’t it? That’s what really gets under your skin. Cuts right to the bone. Being treated _gently_.” 

Nick was getting lost. It was difficult to focus with Smoothie’s hips pressed up tight against his own, drawing the blood down between his legs like a magnet. 

“Wouldn’t mind that so much,” he managed. His voice came out strained and overzealous, but that only brought a smile to Smoothie’s face. 

“I thought so,” the killer said, dipping his head to lay a kiss against Nick’s fingers, which were still clutching at his shoulders. “What else wouldn’t you mind?” 

“Dunno,” Nick rumbled. “Never really—thought about it.”

“No?”

“Not like this.”

Smoothie smiled again and brought one of Nick’s hands up to his lips, patiently kissing the bandaged tips of his fingers. He took his time with it. He could tell how much Nick liked it; the hitman’s eyes stayed locked onto him while Nick swallowed nervously, and he could feel Nick’s cock stiffening against him already. When he’d finished, he laced his fingers together with Nick’s and gave him one soft kiss on the knuckles. 

“Think about it _now_ ,” he said. It was quiet, but it wasn’t a request—the cold smile on his face made it clear that it was a demand. 

Nick tried to compile all of his desires into one cohesive sentence, but that was a lost cause. Instead he licked his lips and muttered hesitantly under his breath, “Feels good when you say my name.”

“Hm, mutual. Go on?”

“Feels good when you—touch me like I matter to you. Like I matter at all,” Nick managed, trying to avert his eyes. “Been a while since anyone made me feel like that.”

“Oh, _so_ sentimental,” Smoothie sighed. “Very sweet.”

Nick liked hearing that. It had been literal _years_ since anyone called him _sweet_. No one in their right mind would’ve come to that conclusion. Maybe that was why he liked Smoothie so much—the man was so entirely out of his mind that he actually _believed_ that Nick was sweet, that he was worth touching. That he was anything other than a lost cause. 

Smoothie’s words of approval emboldened Nick to say more. He felt _safe_ saying more, which was especially weird given the nature of the past twenty-four hours. Still, none of that seemed to matter anymore; any semblance of logic had left him, and all he could think about was how much he wanted Smoothie to kiss him. 

He blurted that part out, trying to make it sound like he was barking an order to gain back some semblance of control in the situation; “Wouldn’t mind another kiss either, pretty. C’mere.”

He gave Smoothie’s shirt a little tug to emphasize it, trying to bring him closer, but Smoothie stilled his hands and made him wait. He was smaller than Nick, and had to shift forward against the hitman’s body to reach his lips. His hands crept to Nick’s thighs again and pushed them closer to Nick’s chest to close the distance, making it easier to reach him without losing any of the bodily contact he’d already established. That felt weird and vulnerable, and it made Nick’s breath catch uncomfortably in his throat. 

When Smoothie kissed him the discomfort melted away into the softness of his lips. It certainly didn’t _feel_ like Nick was kissing a man who was known for ripping out teeth and tongues and fingernails—it didn’t _feel_ like he was kissing someone who’d threatened him with an electric drill just over an hour ago and chained him to a concrete floor. All he could feel was the eager energy in Smoothie’s mouth and the soft hum of satisfaction that the killer let out. Smoothie _wanted_ to kiss him; Smoothie clearly _enjoyed_ kissing him, and that was all that mattered now as far as Nick was concerned, at least for these next few minutes. 

Smoothie’s mouth was patient and tasted like top-shelf vodka with a touch of vermouth and Listerine. Nick would’ve given up anything for another of those kisses. When Smoothie’s lips broke away, Nick found himself trying to pull the killer back again. 

“We should, um,” he said, the words catching in his throat. He still didn’t know how to say it, or maybe he wasn’t willing to. After fumbling for a moment he managed, “Uhhh, relocate.” 

“ _Ahh_. To where?” Smoothie asked keenly, intent on forcing the words out of Nick whether he wanted to say them or not. 

“To fuckin’ Timbuktu, where do you think?” Nick demanded. He grumbled hatefully and then said, “I—to your—bedroom, I guess.” 

“Say it, Sax.”

“No.”

“I won’t give it to you until you ask for it.”

Nick let out a growl of frustration. He didn’t _want_ to ask for it. Now he realized all too well that everything _had_ been easier when Smoothie had him tied up; it had been nice, being given everything he wanted without the chance to deny it, without having to admit that he loved it. Being a free agent meant that he had to openly admit how badly he wanted Smoothie to touch him. 

The sadistic sparkle in Smoothie’s eyes told him that this _was_ torture, that Smoothie was getting off on it just as much as he would’ve gotten off on drilling Nick’s teeth right out of his skull. A nasty smile was flickering across the killer’s face, one that revealed all of the underlying cruelty. Nick didn’t even care. If anything, that smile only made him want Smoothie more. 

He tried to swallow his pride and say it, but the words still came out choppy and wrong, despite his best efforts. “Wanna relocate. To the bed. So we can—mrrrggh. So we can do this without clothes.”

“Say it.”

“Smoothie, c’mon.”

“ _Say_ it, Nick.” 

“Don’t make me,” Nick grumbled. “Come on, I said enough already, you—I could still break your neck and get out of here, you know, I don’t have to do _anything_ you say, I could—”

Smoothie cut him off with another of those long, patient kisses, and Nick’s resolve crumbled completely underneath it. It was true, he could break Smoothie’s neck if he wanted, but he didn’t want that; all he wanted was the killer’s touch, the focused attention, the thrill of being appreciated in ways that no one had ever appreciated him before. He broke the kiss off himself to whisper the words greedily and gutturally into Smoothie’s mouth, as if that would prevent anyone else in the world from hearing him admit it; “— _Fine_. Fuck me. I want you to.” 

“Oh, _perfect_ ,” Smoothie praised him softly, kissing his jaw again to reward the obedience, making it clear how much he appreciated Nick’s capitulation. “Perfect, Nick, well done. This is going to be _lovely_.” 

Nick had no doubt about that. If the way that Smoothie was touching him now was any indication, then the killer had every intention of rewarding him handsomely for his cooperation. He could feel the excitement in Smoothie’s lips and fingertips. 

The killer pulled Nick up from the sofa cushions and ran his hands appreciatively over the front of Nick’s white t-shirt, looking him up and down with hungry eyes. There was nothing slow or gentle about his gaze, but his hands were as delicate as ever against Nick’s chest. 

“I’m not used to _lovely_ ,” Nick grumbled distrustfully. “Try anything shady and I’ll—”

“—Hush. No more of your empty threats,” Smoothie insisted, sliding off the sofa and taking Nick by the hand to lead him along after. It was a softer, more intimate gesture than Nick had been expecting, and he couldn’t help but give in to it without question. He let Smoothie pull him along to the bedroom. It was surprisingly easy to let it happen. His eyes traced the killer’s slender body and he thought back to that first night in the hospital; how easy it had been to crush Smoothie underneath him, how sharp and satisfying the killer’s gasps of pain had been. It would have been easy for Smoothie to get back at him for that, and he almost had, countless times. Still, the killer had yet to _hurt_ him—at least, he had yet to hurt him in any way that Nick hadn’t enjoyed. 

The bed was miserably soft. It was so soft that it didn’t seem fair—it felt like a trap, like a spider’s web. Nick let Smoothie guide him down into the fresh, downy comforter and the maze of pillows. The killer smiled and admired him with predatory eyes for a moment, then said, “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back in a jiff.”

He stole away, and Nick realized with increasing anxiety that he’d gone off to fetch that black duffel bag, the one with the leather harness and the strap-on and the lengths of chain and the electric drill—he tried not to think about it too hard. Instead he shifted back on the bed to lose himself in the mess of pillows and brought one hand down to rub the aching erection between his legs. Nick closed his eyes and stroked himself lazily through the sweatpants, trying to think about Smoothie’s lips around his dick instead of what he knew was about to happen. 

He didn’t hear Smoothie come back into the room, but he felt the killer climb onto the bed next to him. Smoothie’s hands were on him in an instant. 

“Too excited to wait for me, I see,” the killer said with a little smile, replacing Nick’s hand with his own and teasing his cock through the sweatpants. Nick let out a rumble of appreciation. 

“Feels better when you do it,” he said. He sought Smoothie out with his hands and pulled him down into the pillows to kiss him, letting his hips press up into the other man’s touch. He only let Smoothie go to mutter, “Guess that’s because you’re such a fuckin’ _professional_ , or whatever.” 

“Hmm. Nice of you to notice.”

Smoothie took control without hesitation. He moved with assurance, as if he’d done this a hundred times before, easing Nick’s legs apart and taking his place between them. That confidence set Nick at ease. When Smoothie reached for the duffel bag that he’d left on the edge of the bed, Nick’s heart had stopped hammering as a result of the anxiety and had _started_ hammering just because of how tempting Smoothie’s calm, self-assured motions were. One of the killer’s hands slid up the inside of Nick’s thigh affectionately, as if to soothe him, while Smoothie pulled a bottle of lube and a package of latex gloves out of the bag. 

“Relax,” Smoothie told him, mistaking Nick’s excitement for fear. “Take it easy. I’ll be gentle.”

“Right,” Nick muttered. He actually believed it, which surprised him. He watched Smoothie pull on one dark latex glove and then fetch a black hand towel from the bag, which the killer tossed to one side. 

“Take everything off,” said Smoothie, sitting back with that same hungry look in his eyes. He watched expectantly. When Nick shook his head, he frowned. “No?”

“Rather you do it,” Nick mumbled. “Probably better off leaving it to a professional.”

“You’re lazy.”

“Yeah. Tie a guy up for a day and he gets used to being spoiled,” said Nick with a crooked little smile. “Figured you’d be sweet enough to chop the pants off me like you did last time.” 

Smoothie narrowed his eyes, but he still smiled. He abandoned the duffel bag and let his hands snake underneath Nick’s t-shirt, then pulled it up over the hitman’s head and cast it aside. He wasn’t interested in wasting time now that he had Nick among the pillows. The sweatpants came off as easily as the shirt had done, and the killer was pleased to find that Nick was already painfully hard underneath. Once the pants were gone, Smoothie’s fingers found the hitman’s cock and offered up a few soft, teasing touches. 

“Did you know,” Smoothie started, shifting back into position and pressing one firm, greedy kiss into the inside of Nick’s thigh. “Anal penetration is _spectacular_ for torture? Can’t tell you how many times I’ve failed to get the right information out of someone with a knife, only to have them give it up the minute I’ve got a few fingers in them.”

“Oh. Wow, that’s—not making me feel better about this.”

“Not gently, obviously,” Smoothie went on, as if he were talking about a casual hobby. “Not gently at all. If you hadn’t killed all of my men back at the hospital, you might have gotten a taste of that. Instead of this.”

“Please stop talking.”

“Shh. You’ll _much_ prefer this.”

Nick felt the killer push one of his knees up toward his chest with quiet assurance. The look on Smoothie’s face was mesmerizing—his lips had curled into a cool, thin smile, and he looked ready to devour Nick whole. The hitman’s eyes eagerly followed each of his movements while he slicked his fingers up with lube. 

“Now, if I were _going_ to torture you, I’d do it all at once. Sharp. Probably two fingers to start off, no lubrication,” Smoothie said. His seductive tone didn’t match the words at all, but it matched the way his hands moved. The tip of his slick index finger found Nick’s entrance and circled it with gentle pressure, while his other hand, just as slick but lacking a glove, gave Nick’s cock an easy stroke. “Would’ve worked wonders on you, I think. Pain was hardly doing anything to you, but you would’ve hated me _touching_ you like this, isn’t that right? Especially with an audience.”

Nick grumbled under his breath uncomfortably, concerned by Smoothie’s avenue of conversation. He didn’t protest, though—he was too interested in everything Smoothie’s fingers were doing. He still felt more vulnerable than he was used to, but the slow, firm strokes of Smoothie’s hand around his cock made up for it. The relief was so intense that he hardly even noticed the tip of Smoothie’s finger working its way into him. It felt sweeter than the last time; he liked it more with lubrication. It was easier to relax and lean into the unusual sensation. 

It didn’t hurt. That actually surprised him, especially knowing _who_ he was having sex with right now. Nick had expected it to hurt at least a little, but all he could feel was pressure and the unfamiliar sensation of opening up. Smoothie went more slowly than Nick had anticipated, like he’d promised to; that felt surprisingly good, especially because Nick had been anticipating at least a little bit of cruelty. 

“You would have hated it,” Smoothie said softly. He eased his finger in down to the knuckle, studying Nick’s face to make sure there wasn’t any pain. “You would have hated it enough to make up a password for Blue, even if you never had the real one in the first place.”

“Still don’t have the real one, hate to break it to you,” Nick managed. He took in a sharp breath when the killer’s finger slid out of him halfway, because _that_ felt incredible. “ _Oh_. Okay.” 

“I thought it was overkill, personally, but I never turn down the opportunity to have a little fun. And Blue was so certain that you’d be fun to crack,” Smoothie sighed. “Mm. He didn’t know the half of it, did he? You’ve been _extremely_ fun to crack.”

When Nick finally let out a desperate, throaty little moan, Smoothie found it just as gratifying as any scream of agony he’d ever drawn out of a victim. He kept things slow and deliberate, working one finger in and out until he saw Nick’s hands knot themselves into the sheets and grip for dear life. A few more delicate touches and a bit more lubrication was all it took to push one more finger in. The second one went more easily than the first, and this time Nick clutched at the front of the killer’s shirt greedily and let out a low, breathy curse. 

“Now, now. Relax. Ease up,” Smoothie said softly, flashing Nick an untrustworthy smile. “There we go. Not so bad, hm?”

“Not so bad,” Nick managed. _Not so bad_ was an understatement—he was loving every second, and he could feel his face heating up from the shame of enjoying it so much. He let one of his hands catch Smoothie by the wrist to still the killer’s attentive strokes along his shaft and said hastily, “Gonna cum in ten fuckin’ seconds if you keep doing that. Knock it off.”

That pleased Smoothie to no end. “Enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

“Just don’t stop,” Nick growled, trying to push the killer’s fingers in deeper. “And shut up about the torture shit, you’re creepin’ me out.”

He heard Smoothie laugh, and then felt another finger slide into him as softly and smoothly as the others, which drove an awful groan out from between his lips. Every new push inward felt more intense than anything Smoothie had done to him so far—maybe more intense than anything _anyone_ had ever done to him, come to think of it. Nick had been stabbed and shot half a dozen times over the course of his life, but _this_ was like nothing else. He felt closer to death at Smoothie’s fingertips than he’d ever felt before, teetering on the edge of something he was barely ready to face. 

When the killer’s fingers slipped out of him one by one, Nick let out an irritated growl. 

“Hurry up,” he demanded, averting his eyes while Smoothie stripped away his glove and dipped into the duffel bag to fetch the harness. 

“Very bossy. Not liking the attitude,” Smoothie noted, even though he sounded amused by Nick’s sense of urgency. He assembled the strap-on with quick, practiced motions. 

“Right, sorry, lemme rephrase that,” Nick said. “Hurry the _fuck_ up, sicko, before I decide I’d rather have your mouth than your fake dick.”

“Very bad attitude.”

“Just speed it up,” Nick said through his teeth, trying desperately to make it sound like he wasn’t begging. “I ain’t gettin’ any younger.”

Smoothie slid off the bed to slip his pants off and put the harness on in their place. Nick watched him with overzealous anticipation while he lubed up the silicone strap-on and then climbed back onto the bed.

Smoothie’s hands were more insistent now, more controlling when he forced Nick’s knees up to his chest and looked down on him with a cold, cruel smile. He liked the touch of fear that he could see in Nick’s eyes even now, hidden behind a mask of eager anticipation and heavy breathing; he _lived_ for that little flash of fear. 

“Do you want a kiss first?” Smoothie said snidely, expecting a mean or sarcastic response.

“Yeah,” Nick replied much too eagerly, sounding relieved by the suggestion. He didn’t wait for it. Instead he reached out to catch the other man’s face and pulled him in close to kiss him, which startled Smoothie into cooperation. Nick kissed him for a little bit too long, long enough for the fear to dissipate and even long enough for the cruelty to seep out of Smoothie’s smile. It was easy for Nick to settle down among the pillows after that. Even the shame was starting to melt away as he shifted underneath the killer’s body, trying to get a better angle to keep the other man close enough to reach with his lips. When Smoothie gave him a quizzical look Nick mumbled, “Wouldn’t mind a few more of those, ah, kisses. While you—I mean, you know. If that’s uh, doable.”

“Of course,” the killer said with a smirk. 

“Gonna make me do something ridiculous first, make me beg or some shit?” Nick asked, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Or just gonna shove it in like a complete douchebag?”

“Thought about it,” Smoothie admitted. 

“Figures. Sicko.”

“Changed my mind,” he said, a bit more softly. He readjusted Nick’s legs and then reached down to position the tip of the strap-on at the hitman’s entrance, noting the way that Nick grumbled anxiously and started to chew on his bottom lip. A few soft touches were enough to soothe him. “Relax, Nick. Nice and gentle.”

“Right. Right,” Nick muttered. “It’s nothin’. Just nerves. That’s all. Better than being tied to a fuckin’ chair.”

“Mm. _Gentle_ ,” Smoothie repeated. He leaned in to press his lips against the hitman’s own again, and then eased his hips forward to push the tip in. 

Nick tried his best to relax. He mumbled a few halfhearted swears against Smoothie’s lips and waited for the pain, which never came—after Smoothie’s diligent job of getting him ready, the sensation of being entered didn’t even hurt. It was intensely unfamiliar, and certainly uncomfortable at the start, but Nick closed his eyes and tried to lose himself in the soft sensation of Smoothie’s lips against his own. He couldn’t keep himself from groaning into the killer’s mouth when Smoothie pushed in deeper. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed, clutching at the killer’s shoulders, his voice little more than a desperate growl. “ _God_ , yeah—”

Smoothie laughed lightly and kissed him again before sinking the rest of the strap-on into him with a slow, savoring push. He could feel Nick’s breath heaving against him. He gave the hitman time to adjust to the fullness, knowing how much Nick would appreciate that. Instead he focused on easing the process with a few long and lazy kisses, taking his time to enjoy the rush of pride that came from finally being inside Nick Sax. 

Nick’s hands were working anxiously, gripping tight, but his lips were twice as insistent. It felt like he would lose his grip on reality if he let go of Smoothie for an instant. When the killer’s hips moved to ease him into a shallow and leisurely rhythm, Nick wondered how it was possible for someone so deadly and so _clearly_ psychotic to feel so irresistible inside of him. Smoothie’s hands traced him appreciatively while the killer’s hips rocked into his own. Nick couldn’t help but wonder whether Smoothie would’ve liked it better with him all tied up, especially when Nick caught him by the wrists and gave them a stern tug to bring him in closer.

Smoothie, meanwhile, would’ve been hard-pressed to think of a more exciting lay than Nick Sax—the sensation of the powerful hitman buckling underneath of him and giving in to the pleasure of penetration was incredible. He’d been looking forward to this; ever since that first night, he’d been wondering what Nick would look like on the other end of things, what kind of naughty noises he would make with Smoothie inside him. Having Nick at his mercy was everything he’d dreamed of and more. The hitman looked _beautiful_ like this, with both legs sprawled up and out and his chest heaving with quick, delighted breaths. He looked just as tempting as he had that night in the hospital, maybe even more. 

“ _Shit_ , that feels amazing,” Nick gasped against the killer’s mouth, sounding absolutely baffled by how much he was enjoying himself. “ _Smoothie_.”

The way the hitman said his name turned Smoothie on more than he’d expected, and he couldn’t keep his hands away from Nick’s neck when he heard it. 

“Again,” the killer’s insisted. He was trying desperately not to fall head-over-heels, even though the way Nick’s eyes lit up when his grip tightened was doing something dangerous and unfamiliar to his heartstrings.

“Smoothie,” Nick offered up instantly, greedily, in a voice that would’ve chilled anyone else to the bone. He clamped his hands around Smoothie’s wrists and brought them up against his throat even harder. “ _More_ , you sick _bastard_.”

Smoothie was all too happy to oblige. He tightened his fingers around the hitman’s powerful neck first and studied the frenzied smile that it brought to Nick’s face, then he increased the pace of his hips. He kept each thrust shallow at first, picking up the pace without giving Nick more than he could handle, and before long he could feel the hitman squirming and trying to push him in deeper. 

“Oh, you _love_ this,” Smoothie said, without a trace of mockery left in his voice. He was enthralled by the sight of Nick taking every inch; the hitman felt amazing underneath him, and he looked absolutely irresistible. The clutch of Smoothie’s fingers around his throat only seemed to excite him more. Smoothie could hardly contain his _own_ excitement—after all, it wasn’t every day that he had a man as lethal or as handsome as Nick in his bed, especially on the receiving end of his silicone cock. On top of that, he hadn’t expected Nick to warm up to penetration so quickly. The hitman couldn’t get enough of it; he kept twisting with need around the strap-on and urging Smoothie’s hands tighter and tighter around his neck. Smoothie had choked a _lot_ of people to death in his long and illustrious career as a mob enforcer, and it was clear that Nick liked to tempt fate with his interest in erotic asphyxiation; he wanted it dangerously tight, enough to leave him on the verge of blacking out permanently. Smoothie let him have what he wanted for as long as he could while he ground Nick down into the mattress. He loosened his grip when Nick started to fade, but made up for it by bringing him in for a long, controlling kiss. Nick growled his approval into the killer’s mouth. 

“You’re good at this,” Nick rasped against him. He let his hands slide down Smoothie’s body to grip the killer’s ass, pulling him in closer with a low, eager groan. “For a guy with no dick.”

“That only makes me _better_ at this,” Smoothie corrected snidely. 

“Whatever you say, pretty,” Nick agreed, barely even registering the killer’s words, too lost in the rhythm of things to focus. He felt one of Smoothie’s hands trace down to his cock, and he didn’t bother to hold in the little groan of relief that escaped him when it made contact. Smoothie stroked him in time with every deep, delicious thrust of his hips—it felt stunning, especially when the killer’s other hand tightened underneath his jaw to make him lightheaded and dizzy again. Smoothie controlled him perfectly and touched him in ways that Nick hadn’t even _realized_ he wanted. It felt as good as downing a bottle, as good as snorting coke, as good as putting a bullet through the brain of someone who _really_ deserved it—Nick was completely sold. He urged Smoothie into him harder, chasing more of the internal stimulation that he’d finally gotten used to. He was incredibly close, driven into it by the choking and the penetration and the attention Smoothie was finally paying to his shaft. The whirlwind of sensation took him right to the brink.

“Barely even touched you, and you’re already getting there,” Smoothie laughed against him, breathless from the effort he was putting in. He kissed the hitman again, just briefly, and then said, “How _adorable_.” 

“Fuck off,” Nick managed. 

“How many _seconds_ has it been?”

“I said fuck off, you pretty piece of shit.”

“Mm. Feisty,” the killer said with a smile. He paid more attention to Nick’s cock, speeding up the strokes and working his hand appreciatively over the sensitive head each time. “I love it when you get feisty, Nick. It’s even more charming when you’re about to cum for me.”

He could feel the hitman’s thighs clutching at him and Nick’s nails digging into his lower back, trying to force him in deeper. Nick’s breath was already shaking, along with the rest of his body as he tipped over the edge. Finally he gritted his teeth and threw his head back into the pillows with a loud, ecstatic groan of release—his cock throbbed between Smoothie’s fingers and then erupted, his load gushing out across his chest and stomach, painting his powerful body with ropes of milky white. He let out a string of delighted curses when it didn’t stop there; Smoothie’s strap was still grinding the shocks of pleasure out of him from inside, keeping him suspended in a mindless orgasmic haze until his body couldn’t take it anymore. 

When it was finally over, Nick lost himself completely in the exhaustion. He let his eyes roll shut and his body sink into the soft, soothing comfort of Smoothie’s bed. He could feel Smoothie’s hand slipping away from his throat, and that prompted him to tighten his arms around the killer, bringing Smoothie in forcibly against his chest. 

Smoothie grumbled unhappily, squirming in Nick’s arms to dislodge the silicone strap-on from Nick’s body and looking distastefully at his now-ruined white shirt, but he let Nick crush him in his arms anyway. The hitman’s eyes were still shut, and his face was slack and satisfied. 

“You’re not very good at torture,” Nick said sleepily. He tried to discourage Smoothie’s squirming by squeezing him tighter and nuzzling insistently into the crook of the killer’s neck. Smoothie frowned and made a disgusted noise.

“I’m incredible at torture,” he complained. “Easily the best on the entire East Coast.”

“Nah. Can’t be,” Nick insisted. “No way you’re New York’s sickest bastard _and_ the best in bed.”

Smoothie still scowled, but he huffed and said nothing, placated by his own pride. He liked the powerful crush of Nick’s arms around him, and the fact that Nick’s breath had settled into a slow, deep rhythm. There was no doubt that Nick would be asleep before long. He was too tired and blissed out to even bother cleaning himself up. 

“Doubt that I’m the _best_ , it’s a big city,” he said against the hitman’s neck, letting his hands creep over Nick’s strong arms and then smoothing back the hitman’s tousled hair. “Nice to know that you’re so easily satisfied. I’ll keep that in mind for future torture sessions.”

“Mfff. Lemme get some shuteye first.”

“Of course.”

“Before you inevitably drug me,” Nick added with a sigh. He settled into the pillows and shifted Smoothie roughly to pull the comforter over both of them. 

“Inevitable, is it?”

“Probably. Gonna wake up back in the fuckin’ chair.”

“Mm. Interesting idea.”

“Smoothie.”

“Hm?”

Nick clipped his chin affectionately with a few coarse fingers. “Been a while since I had that much fun with someone. Thanks for not eviscerating me right off the bat—might return the favor and hold off on breakin’ your skull. For a little while, at least.” 

“I’d appreciate that,” Smoothie agreed. When Nick kissed him, he could feel that something had changed; Nick’s whole demeanor was softer now, and it wasn’t just because he was fading into sleep. His lips were more tender than they’d been before. For once it didn’t feel like there was any rivalry between them, any struggle for dominance or control—it just felt like Nick was _kissing_ him, without anything sharp or sinister behind it. It wasn’t a sensation that Smoothie was used to, and he found it strangely intoxicating. 

“Never let anyone do anything like that to me,” Nick admitted under his breath. “Glad I did. Felt better than I would’ve thought, especially with you on the other end of it.” 

“Very flattering.”

“Make it up to you in the morning,” Nick said, burrowing into the pillows and pulling Smoothie with him. “If you don’t kill me first.”

“I’ll take that into consideration.”

Nick smirked and settled down against the other man, and for the first time in a _long_ time, he slept comfortably. 


End file.
